Hot and Wet

Tomorrow I leave for New York.
The weather channel is predicting temperatures in the 80’s
and lows in the 70’s with scattered thunderstorms
the entire week I am there.
A couple of days ago the forecast was
supposed to be in the 70’s for the highs
and the 60’s for the lows.
Still, it's better than Nashville.
Today I drove my old 240 in 93 degree weather
with my heater on.
It seems my car wants to run hot for some strange
(albeit expensive) reason
and the only thing that seems to help bring the gauge down
is to turn the heat on.
While other people are driving around in SUV’s
with the a/c blaring out arctic winds,
I am driving an eighteen-year-old sauna on wheels.
Anyone who saw me would wonder why
I would put myself through such torture,
but it was either that or have the car go into the red.
My mechanic taught me
it’s o.k. if the car runs hot, just don’t let it go into the red.
On my way home I stopped to get a hot coffee,
which I promptly spilled.
Now the only thing red is my hand.
I put it and my coffee on ice,
and dreamed of the little green Mini
I test drove last night.
It had air conditioning.
Sure,
it cost seventeen thousand dollars more than my car,
but it had air conditioning.
I wonder if the owner would do an even exchange.
Yes, I have been out in the heat way too long.

Airplanes and Biscuits

It is time for me to stop meddling in other people's business.
Time for me to stop chasing after airplanes
and biscuits.
I've got my own planes to fly
to the stars.
For too long now,
I thought yours were better,
that where you were going was more exciting
than where I was going.
Now I know better.
I was wrong.
We both were.
Standing on that beach in La Jolla
plotting dreams
that would never come true.
The sand beneath my feet
slipping away
as I held on to you.
What was I holding?
That house on the hill is gone,
slipped into the ocean,
long ago,
driftwood.
Yes,
it is all gone,
except for the stars.
You didn't take those with you.

In Monopoly

I was always the shoe.
Not the hat,
or the boat,
or the iron,
or the dog,
or the thimble,
or the race car,
or the cannon,
but the shoe
I don’t know why,
but I was.

Once

I don’t like you anymore.
I once did
when I was little
crawling around in your shadow.
You towering above me
helping me up,
but only so far.
We were best friends,
once,
when I thought as you did,
when I liked what you liked.
But once I had my own thoughts,
once I cut the cord,
you stopped liking me.
You wanted a shadow
for the rest of your life,
a mirror reflecting only you.
You wanted me to be invisible.
When I refused,
I became disposable.
Once we were sisters.
Once.