I wrote this?

Every once in a while, I'll come across a poem I don't even remember writing. This is one of them. The formatting didn't transfer when I copied and pasted..but it still works.


Departing a Little Rural Town in the Middle of Nowhere


Packing his bags
the morning is cold
from his mouth, puffs of steam
The trunk of his car
(the red Corvette)
packed neatly
The empty sound of the door closing
fills the frosted air
followed by his sniffle
He looks around
as he sucks air
through his teeth
Silent
the cars are silent
the rows of houses are silent
The highway is silent
the birds are silent
his eyes are silent
Puffs of steam blow out from his mouth
He’ll remember this
to criticize it when he’s lonely
Or to praise it
When romantic nostalgia
fills his senses
With senseless talk
of how the old life was
and how he misses it
He lays the picture face down in his mind
walks to the driver’s side
slides into the seat
which protests his presence
with a chilly remark
and he shuts the door
The engine curses
as it is prodded into consciousness
and then merely gives in
Pebbles mumble among themselves
giving thanks for the man’s departure
“He’s gone at last”

He glances up into the mirror
to see if there’s someone behind
maybe waving farewell
but there’s only silent rows of houses
hollow in their hearts
taking no notice of the sudden void
so he casts his eyes on the long grey road
that will soon grow smooth and lack
with caliche dusted shoulders
He caresses the knob of his radio
but decides against it
because this was no time, no place to sing
The world just yawns
and reminds him of the simple facts
staring at him from the corners of their eyes
There is nothing behind but reality
nothing ahead except for hope and doubt
and nights moping over that face-down photo in his mind
He sucks cold air between his teeth
while the endless black and white ribbon
shifts and curls

© 1987
Bob V. Hernandez