Today's poem arose out of a couple of lines in a Mountain Goats song:
Like someone who's found a small town to escape to
Keeps one eye on his abandoned, former self.
The song is Spent Gladiator 2.
I was thinking what it must be like to be that person. I immediately thought witness protection and it grew from that.
he walks around his car
eyes search for small changes
he drives the dawn streets
to black coffee in a white mug
comforting warmth in chilled hands
this is the only habit he salvaged
from the car crash of his first life
when faced with that choice
he traded loyalty for freedom
and ponders the decision
every waking day and into each night
It seems appropriate to leave you with The Mountain Goats.