Work In Progress

She sits so

close beside him all pressed

to his side like a bandaid

like a scar

like a static cling nightmare

in his beat up baby blue pickup and

he wears her smugly.

Honey don’t you

know we’ve all had that?

We all knew and defended and tried to convince

and it worked. Even

on ourselves.

But then

he goes out and buys

a new car.

Its paint shines and changes

in the sun. It’s a deeper blue with

bright chrome and and a fast engine that will quit in a year, but he doesn’t care because


he has bucket seats.


About this entry