I always try to keep three or four lines of poetry

in my head &		anyway	my brain is so full

of other noise.  I open the car window

because it is snowing 		         12 degrees

I put them all down & keep driving & try

to think of something I was thinking about yesterday

	or I try to recapture a feeling I was having

& get nervous because it always seems as if

my life plays & gets lost.  A bright orange Hummer

cuts me off so I work hard to pull back even with it

make eye contact with the driver		& flip him off

because it is my job.  He looks like an infant.

His lips are terribly soft.  I want him to be unhappy

in all the same ways I am / about all the same things.

The war is elsewhere	but any place can be

a battlefield.  I have a hard time remembering

anything other than what is happening to me right now

which isn’t remembering		anyway.