poetry by j matthew waters

open house 2 to 4

it was raining like hell but we took off anyway
kept the convertible in the garage where she belongs

we nearly hydroplaned off the face of the earth
but like a cat landed on our feet each & every time

you go as fast as you like on dry pavement
as long as you don’t get caught
never stuck behind a farmer or an asshole

by the time we get there everything’s the same
I swear it’s like going to mass
[or taking your own medicine]
sticking with the same routine
asking irrelevant rhetorical questions
or reciting ancient history

with or without a written excuse
they don’t blame us for leaving so soon
though I often wonder if they blame themselves
stuck inside & contending with hundreds of risers
especially when they should be out & about
painting the town grey

may two thousand twenty
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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