Your Mileage May Vary
1
Our last night in the house was not our last.
With two cats in the yard. Our movers took
the furniture in the morning. A country where
they turned back time. Lifting a trunk, Dad felt
something slip in his back. I have become
comfortably numb. No driving with such pain.
The day destroys the night. Our real last night,
footsteps on hardwood floors. People and friends
I still can recall. Sean with his singles player.
Dream until your dream comes true. Dan,
an even match across the ping-pong table.
They're the faces of the stranger. A girlfriend
kissed in the sunroom. She can take the dark
out of the nighttime. Too shy or young for more.
I'm already standing on the ground.
Training for cross country with the other,
better runners. Get up, get up, get out
of the door. A twenty-mile summer
thunderstorm. Into this world we're thrown.
The melancholy of second place. I've paid
my dues, time after time. The dream the Red Sox
might someday win it all. When I was young,
it seemed that life was so wonderful.
2
Leaving the morning with Dad in the back.
The danger on the rocks is surely past.
Big sisters with licenses. Baby you can drive
my car. One last trip West. Running into
the sun. Not down through the desert to Christmas
on a San Diego beach. All the leaves
are brown. Not down from the Rockies to speed
across Nevada. Like endless rain into
a paper cup. No stop in Medicine Bow,
highway hung on a ridge. Mountains come
out of the sky. No hummingbirds surrounding
my uncle's Colorado cabin. Come
with me or go alone. Instead we went
to North Dakota, then up to Winnipeg
to visit cousins. Leave us helpless, helpless,
helpless. The even more endless highways
of Canada. Get your kicks. In Glacier,
footsteps without sound, each breath clouding
another constellation. Open up
your mind and float downstream. Front-row seats
for the Red Sox in Seattle. Sweet
little sixteen. A foul ball that Dad
leapt up to grab. Joltin' Joe has left
and gone away. Going on to Palo Alto.
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair.
Arriving on Labor Day, Grace Slick's concert
spilling into the new backyard. One pill
makes you larger, and one pill makes you small.
Our first night in the house, and not our last.
Johnny come lately, there's a new kid in town.
Copyright Credit: Andrew Shields, "Your Mileage May Vary" from Thomas Hardy Listens to Louis Armstrong. Copyright © 2015 by Andrew Shields. Reprinted by permission of Eyewear Publishing.
Source: Thomas Hardy Listens to Louis Armstrong (Eyewear Publishing, 2015)