so green and treeness

looks like slices of bread the woman in
seat 14 (next to my seat 13)
says about her pantings/canvases
all lined up leaning against each other
_______

unexpected first tomato of the season:
an offering plucked from a lawrence, kansas garden
and chomped as colorado slides past
en route to new mexico
in exchange i offer carrots dug up from
missouri soil
_______

puffs of generously fed (rain)
sage brush rising railside
punctuated by the exclamation points
of wild sunflowers
brown-and-golding against sky
_______

mennonite ipod:
in the seat in front of me
mennonite woman softly slowly humming
most songs i don’t recognize
with the exception of amazing grace
_______

swirl of the full creeks and rivers
mostly muddied sometimes clear
we whistle and roll over
_______

herd of elk to the left
conductor points out
at least 100 if not more
also spotted: handfuls of antelope
_______

tufts of cottonwood fluff
surround hurtling metal
as we move through
_______

wherein i grab a peg
from the diner table-top game
and hold it up to sing into
tiny microphone i say and hand
it to liana who lip syncs
didn’t we almost have it all
when love was all we had worth giving
the ride with you was worth the fall my friend
loving you makes life worth living
while we await our chile relleno
laughing our asses off we always go
on the best dates she says
_______

gallina creek/hot springs
the soft speak of two teen boys
spin-jumping into
cold churning creek water
voices breaking as they scream/exclaim
_______

rolling along highway 518 passing through
carson national forest so green and treeness
it feels like montana/oregon/washington
and throws me off/pulls me in with such
familiarness
while we pass sharpie mic back and forth
singing you’re all i need to get by
and if you’re worried about where
if you were worried about where
i’ve been or who i saw or
what club i went to with the homies
baby don’t worry, you know that you got me
_______

coins stuck in quarter machines
she says we always
go on the best dates
dum dum suckers in our mouths

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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