The whole drive down
we’re talking about writing
except I skipped breakfast
which gives me thoughts like
“what’s the point
of making this shit
when everyone else is so much better.”
All I can smell is rental-car
carpets and Sue’s banana peel
continuing to rot in the back seat.

Hours later
we’ve eaten potato salad and
admired the new baby, the
view of the river from
the screened-in porch
of the country house,
the particular quiet of all
countrysides on a weekday afternoon.

-more of this poem to come…