United movers showed up the day
after high school graduation
to ship us south. Pissed & mislaid
I loaded my 53 Pontiac —
washed-out blue, the cream seats
napping out — backed down the drive,
turned right on Van Dien. The chariot
steered me under the tracks, around the curve,
up the hill toward my best friend’s house.
What I would do next — what I did —
I can’t remember. Only my going stays,
etched into canon, how I cut my ties
at 17, stared over the hood,
elbow out the window, the sun’s rays.
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