Drive By

Golden hair behind the picket fence
Full of life, still new, but old enough to feel the pain
Bouncing, brimming, beaming
An older self, faded, transfixed shuttles behind the barrier
Blind to youth, beauty, need, blood

Scurry from home to the inn down the block
From known to unknown
From desired to tolerated
Scurry, quickly
Meaning moves from warm bed to tall cool bottles
From mate to match
From bond to bondage
Invest in your aim so as to miss the target – completely

Picket fence to pool hall
Drive by
Feel the wind rush through the wound as you pass
Don’t feel, we will do that for you
Rather fill it
With un-meaning
Pile high the void
Never to see, feel or know

We see and remember for you
Yet you are held in our hearts
For better or worse

Lit

Lit is a student-led literary magazine at The Seattle School of Theology and Psychology.

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