Straightaways,
Straight-edges
We see
Now
Along with
.
Our ideals,
A sun setting
Behind a truck bed
And the TV blaring
To funnel monuments
Of thought,
.
As to just see those straightaways,
To make ourselves as small as an ant
But brandishing moments with our faces to the sun
Will walk us into the new part of town,
Will mete out everything we’ve in our marrows,
In our wrists,
.
So when the lobsters
Come crawling back out for spring,
We’re new too.