I suppose it didn’t make sense to you,learning to drive in a cemeterywhere our entire mutual family is buried.Nothing to hurt, I saidas my very pregnant friend shouted obscenitiesat you nervously winding through the circle drivesleading to stones that markour very simple and forgotten existence.
I suppose I wasn’t teaching you much.You had probably already driven a car,certainly kissed a boy, but maybe just stupid enoughto think that I was cool, momentarily.
I remember how young we were, parking the carand visiting the plot we call grandpa.The cemetery seemed so crowded, not enough spacebetween me and you and our shared future.
I should’ve said something, but didn’tabout the bright summer sun, the waythat cemeteries have no smell,your giggling behind the wheel.
I didn’t think that this was the first timewe’d be without directionsunable to stop.
(previously published in Poet’s Basement)