act III

Droning west on the freeway,

the memory, like a neon sign at

the entrance

of my mind, “ I don’t want

to hurt you,”

beckons me to an old familiar place.

He said it again. Believe him

this time.

Four hawks circle in a kettle,

caught in an updraft.

My old Buick hums over

the flatlands.

A billboard looms on a curve,

Heart Disease: #1 Killer

of Women.”

My ragged heart pines for Albany.

Pin Ball Wizards” says

another sign.

The world tilts and turns.

Three geese fly east with a message.

We have come to the fork

in the Thornapple River.

Gail (Feb.’11) adds, “Finally, the bitter end of the era (pun) of romance, and the commitment we were unwilling to make for more reasons than the distance.”

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