poetry, Talking with Broken Objects

Moon Not Out

The stars fall back into the clouds,
As I pull myself into the cab of the U-haul.
I look around for the Moon
but it is not out.

The stars flicker and roll past the window.
The passage of time on the road is interchangeable.
Today, tomorrow, yesterday,
the actions are all at once;
nevertheless, the decisions which were made
brought me away from yesterday,
through today, and into tomorrow.

Some of my friends inform me
I am running away from my problems
and they are right, of course I am.
I am running as fast as I can go,
running from everything that meant anything,
the hopes, the dreams, her love
and the memories connected to it:
each tree, street corner,
each restaurant, pool table,
each movie theater,
and each piece of ground
that covers the square miles
upon which the city rests.

The moon was not out.
I could not see it
nor its glow from behind the clouds.
All I could see
were the headlights beaming in front of me,
showing me
just a fleeting bit of what lies ahead.

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