the deer  county zero

or

the dread of false memory

dark in wisconsin looking 

for shapes on the side 

for 30 miles mistaking 

cardboard for flesh

swerving large metal 

outside the truck stop

brick lutheran church

every bump could 

have been

screaming in the bitch

seat, grab the oh jesus 

handle and close your

eyes don't think of vermont

postcard images  gumballs 

uncle john's porch  his

pancakes  fire  guns

replace the shreds and 

throw them over 

the top of the car.

curfew

or

the dread of landmarks

you stepped on my knee

and I sat on your foot

when there was a line 

for the bathroom I had to talk

to strangers because

I was wearing my seagram's gin

shirt not proud I rode the train 

alone getting off the six blocks 

away wrong stop

I had to walk past the kfc thinking 

about my mother's cabriolet 

in the parking lot with the wrong men 

on its last night white and clean 

before in the garage with inches 

of calabrian dust on the hood 

Then maya angelou at the feminist 

camp in woodstock talking 

about how the daughters of those

women are never the same though 

I'm sure I would have been fine had

I Ieft the talk early when I'd wanted to 

when I had to pee.