Love story, Midwest

That was long afterwards, though. Where I was now
was just wanting to get her to stop,

stop the car on that narrow lane on a Welsh hillside
whose name I’ve forgotten

like the reason for our insane quarrel, or where I found
the recklessness that made me

open the door of a car driving along a narrow lane
on a Welsh hillside, jump outside

while she was still slowing down, bang the bonnet
and leave a dent that we both,

separately, secretly, worried about for the rest of
that holiday, because of course

we hadn’t taken out extra insurance for the rental car,
as you do when you are young

and still trust in things mostly turning out right, and still
capable of insane, inexplicable emotions

that will make you jump from a car on a Welsh hillside
and write a story afterwards,

long afterwards, a story about a man skip­ping stones
over the surface of a twilight pond,

about two people walking through endless cornfields
towards the grain silos of a sleepy town

somewhere in the dusty Midwest of the United States;
a story about love.


One response to “Love story, Midwest

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