don't mind the stop signs, dear.

you've felt it before...

car stumbling pas
the christmas lights
left up in july
-we could cut through here.
-no, we can't do that.
-it's just grass...
-that's somebody's yard!

they sputter laughter
back and forth
and i think
we won't leave prints
on this asphalt
but that grass would die
in telling that we were there.

-should we get ice cream?
-oh, yes.
-you say ice cream? sure, sure.

i give my ego a stretch
as i congratulate myself
on a remarkable
performance as third wheel

they won't notice
i'm collected
in a bundle of thoughts;
they don't know
that driving late
reminds me
of you-

[a quiet song
that whispered to
the muted rumble
of your car
carrying us in the thick
crow-hued night]

was that before i felt
you self-righteous weight?
-i could cut through here.
-no, you can't do that.
-it's just a girl...
-that's somebody's heart!

oh, no, you didn't mind.
why, yes, it was quite a laugh;
such horrifying fun it is to destroy.