TWENTY

The Miami Greyhound station
writing postcards to no one,
picturing picture window lettuce beds.
Hurricane skinny dipping,
seersucker dial tone,
trapdoor photo processing labs.

Days of heartbreak and hangover,
of postage stamps and glue.

San Jose pan dulce,
employment in the blender,
a stash of cash-only ammunition.
Fear TV screens,
shoplifted sunglasses,
automatic spring break transmission.

Days of heartbreak and hangover,
of postage stamps and glue.

Chopping wood and falling
asleep by the fire,
Routes 80, 10, and 95,
sweeping through towns and cities
filled with desire,
asking the address of anyone alive.

Days of heartbreak and hangover,
of postage stamps and glue.