With love

Poetry

Wilshire

1 to the 120 to the 395.

Switching freeway lanes made us forget our grievances.

1 to the 120 to the 395.

We were on our last handle of malt whiskey when I realized that

there is a misalliance between my thumb

and my index finger. Me and you.

We talked about the breakdown of humans in the presence of babies.

Do babies ruin sex forever? Itty bitty babies. Itty bitty blotches of

pear sauce and bits of cheerios on the vinyl kitchen floor.

Now we’re stuck on this road forever.

I did it for the children. I did it for the baby. Oops I did it again.

What If i told you it was mechanical?

Just take out the damn batteries. There is sacrilege in throwing away

half eaten apples. If we both pulled the bus ropes at the same time,

who decided we got off on Wilshire? There are no warning signs.

The sun is in my eyes.

Did you knock down the stop sign?

You look eight feet tall.

You said leave but I thought you said love.

I said I love you too and left.

Nose to nose, mouth to mouth. but still, the projector shows

finger bunnies on the car door. Are

you using your left hand or right?

(I’m just glad you’re speaking to me again)

Elizabeth Hsieh