Kimberly Kirchner '13
A hatchback in the parking lot at Joe’s—
I’ll never eat a hot dog there again
without a secret smirk at how you froze
when I demanded “Shut it, and get in”.
Today I found your sock beneath the seat,
took twisted pride in knowing it was there.
Remembered trading words for tangled feet,
driving home self-crowned with tangled hair.
I plucked you from a field of broken glass,
and asked you what you saw in neon signs.
Beneath their lights, the boy with so much class
discovered how to let himself recline.
I’d heard you didn’t have it in you, kid,
but the footprints on my windshield say you did.