in the living room
we take turns wrestling a cheap guitar
forcing beauty from rigid wood.
our hands turn to plastic
nature slips away
and we feel small.

across state lines
on christmas eve
we drive,
stop for fast food,
drive more
make good time
might make it there
for christmas eve service
but i really doubt it
he says.

the sign reads six miles
to bowling green kentucky
but we keep driving

cinder block structure,
bright red letters by the road,
clings to the soil.

girl in sweatshirt
forces out laughs so hard
her shoulders shake.
she's learned well
people like people
who laugh at jokes.

i got some loose ends.
sandpaper shadow creeps up my chin
and dishes stack like stone walls
on the countertop.
i gain ground here
and lose it there.
eyelids slide like greased lead
then fire back to life
then slide
again.

dripping spitting
rainy day
press my thoughts down into charcoal
squishing squeaking
raincoats hang on chairs