BLACK CAR
A black car drove into my street.
At the top, it turned around
and drove out again.
Memories trespass into my mind.
Trample the crops, shit on the floor, don’t buy a round.
Checking the coast is clear, leave again.
Saint Francis sailed into my church,
promising to turn my soul around.
Stowing away offerings of guilt and shame, set sail again.
You came into my life
with your hopes and plans to turn me around,
and then you left again.
Comments are closed.