Noodling poem

The radio traded places with the GPS.

we were wherever the Mountain Goats felt like taking us

the GPS lady read poetry

by Yusef Komenyakaa

the  windshield wipers carved chunks out of the night

nothing was doing its job

our mouths made trumpet noises

whenever we attempted speech

in the Ford Escape

You turned in long sonic passages

which I punctuated with sad, drawn out notes that took all of my breath

we spoke actual words with actual saxophones

they had supplied us

It was all going to take some getting used to.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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One thought on “Noodling poem

  1. Linda Vernon says:

    Hahahaha! This is poem is a masterpiece! Well done! 😀

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