Kelley White You Were Paul On the Road to Damascus Only you weren't. You were going and coming on the Schuylkill Expressway pulling your new little antique travel-trailer and then it was shudder shudder shudder the rack out of control and black and white and red lights flinging and yellow lines swimming and way too many cars spin spin spinning and the little house ripped sitting bent on its side in three lanes of traffic — this is what you tell me — I can see your hands gripped to the wheel, taste the stale cigar smell of the jeep, the last air you breathe, your pulse drumming a tsunami in your ears, a little brass taste where you bit your lip, hands already bruising with the clench. You're alive. Perpendicular to Superbowl weekend traffic. At the junction to Route1, Roosevelt Boulevard and City Line Ave. But remember, it was Saul, going, Paul coming back. Or Saul leaving home and Paul lost his way. Geewhillikers. So now you want to talk about us. Us? I say — don't go there. The articles of infinity are not saved. They fall again from heaven upon us scared beneath. I don't love you as much as a dry breath in autumn. As if you'd apologize. As if you'd say "Dimple-Pie, you make me wanna be a better person."Yeah, we'll talk about that tomorrow. I'll be a hearty listener. I'll sing the song your grandmother didn't remember. Turra lurra. Police sirens scream 'leave her leave her leave.' Paul hated women. What about Saul? |