an email told us to come now     or not at all

to collect our things

from the building where we teach english to teenagers

I had forgotten how to pilot the car                           after so long in quarantine

my ass                     a couch cushion                billboards            pulp along the highway

up three quiet flights                        I expected to find no ceiling

but the lights came on when I asked for them

I pack up books and notes           

into a wheeled suitcase                    a paper bag          a plastic crate

it took two climbs to get it all

the trees were snapped in half like necks

 in the faculty parking lot               friendly faces float around

today talking aloud was like breath inflating a chest

warm and sweet like pastries                          or an arm around a stomach at dawn

so we talked until time ran out

 

 

now i’m back on the highway

paying close attention to everything        so I do not see it coming 

as my hyundai summits the overpass       there is a flood

coming at me     carried not on water        but on the wind

a car swerves as I strain my eyes to see it

it is a wave

of pink balls

styrofoam or sponge

I drive through them

the radio jerks on

wanna cut through the clouds break the ceiling

wanna dance on the roof                                    you and me alone

wanna cut to the feeling

I feel the apples of my cheeks      I feel rosy

light opens up on the plain           a splash of castor oil