Souvenirs

 Souvenirs 

 

Sunday mornings I travel  

Sometimes in contemplative 

Silence, east on the soulless  

Pavement of old Highway 70, 

Past Lowman’s Motor Court, 

Where mopeds and beater cars 

Gather like the last true unbelievers, 

Then by the Angus Steakhouse,  

Trumper muraled, empty, defeated; 

Strip clubs, used car lots, 

Battery King, 

Whomsover Church, 

Fishing stores, tire stores, 

The orange and pink outlined 

Vape shop, shocking against 

The spread of darkness. 

Six am, the gritty world 

Asleep, passed out. 

And I, a willing ghost, 

Headed to see my brother, 

On a mission of love.