If Poetry Was Like Driving
After A.R Ammons
Leaves spiral off a truck
towards your car, and only your car.
You pass castle-like mansions.
Will I ever make it?
You drive past the park,
now crowded with children in their new playground,
complete with an ice cream truck.
It is no longer yours.
with the hopes of getting lost.
You turn and twist through neighborhoods,
but only to end up on the same road.