Ann Arbor




Ann Arbor

Glitchy copies
of Hitchcock
on VHS, surrounded by
a weekend’s mess, while you’re
muting Morse code,
calculating equations,
& mixing chemistry in your head

This town’s never dead,
but that doesn’t mean we
can’t gleam & dream as spectres,
window browsing a butterfly
Gibson behind stained glass,
followed by a
limited budget lecture;
we walk away empty-pocket
& handed,
& I forget about it
once we pass

Out of sight, out of mind,
you say when I wonder aloud
about people we met on past
road trips, our eggshell yellowed walls
still lined with their postcards, some will
forever remain unsigned

A tee shirt vendor shares my shades
& explains his artwork
& process
in extensive detail
while I recount horror stories
of bygone days working retail,
& we watch the sun fade
together
in silence

Jam band music reminds us
of the effectiveness of
dancing away hunger pangs,
of losing yourself in a hickory tinted haze,
of all the dotted
small towns we love being stuck in,
& how most of our blood
will always belong to the heart
of Michigan


(2016 ish)



Published by Jennifer Patino

Poet.

17 thoughts on “Ann Arbor

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