as I tell her everything
outside this diner window used to be farmland,
not much more than a crossroad to some other place
people traveled to, like a 1930s sepia photograph
of dust-blown dreams. Now, row after row
of cardboard subdivisions, a florist shop, a Shell station,
SunTrust Bank. I imagine a life with less complications,
no broken marriages lining the horizon like fence posts,
no love affairs hidden behind drawn curtains,
pee-wee baseball, soccer, ballet classes, chess lessons,
a math center teaching children what they don’t learn in school
or home. A few churches. She refills my cup