Joan, Front Seat Passenger, Honda Civic

I don’t know why we have to go to Gratiot
to visit his mother. She doesn’t even know us
anymore—and when she did, she never liked
me, or even the children. It’s all about him.
Always. The number one son, quarterback,
love of her life, because Donny never
amounted to anything, left her—

after he died—in a broken house
clinging to a broken mountainside.
Everything here will collapse
sooner or later. That’s what will come
of all this fracking, though everyone
is so happy, now, to get that check.
Mineral rights. Trucks outside
the Super 8, new motels
going up every day.

New money. New everything,
where everything used to be

so old.

I can’t even see the trees anymore,
snow-covered and sheltering
horses, or cows, some
warm-blooded thing that
has no need to know
the score, no notion

of who’s winning
or what’s on the line.

 

For Open Link Night at dVerse Poets

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8 thoughts on “Joan, Front Seat Passenger, Honda Civic

  1. oy, when home does not feel like home anymore….my home town has changed much as well..some places i dont even recognize…nice bit in the fracking as well…everyone happy in the now but what happens later…ugh…reality

    • Yes, it’s probably very similar! What do you say to people who live in an area where there’s so little prosperity and someone comes with a big check and assurances of safety, and then the local businesses that once were dying are suddenly thriving once more? And yet …

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