poempost. toast. toast.

In some way, I want to drive for a very long time.

And also. I want to sit in the backseat.

I feel like driving is introverted.

Paying attention to blinkers and brights.

Sometimes it's hard to do all those things with just one hand.

But I still like holding yours and driving.

The backseat, it's like a cocoon, like that Arcade Fire song,

I like the peace in the backseat.

But right now I feel lonely, empty of the friends who live far away.

So I'd throw a bag together, put on that Bob Dylan mix Michael gave me...

And I'd drive... I don't know where. To Massachusetts, I guess.

(I think this was supposed to be a poem, but I guess I'm just writing now)

I'd drive to Oxford, MA, and walk through its streets wearing my Oxford hoodie.

I'd compare the libraries and the cathedrals - and if there aren't any cathedrals

(Are there any cathedrals in America? I feel we aren't reverent enough to hold any)

then I'll laugh and say, "Well, what was I expecting?"

And I won't have to answer that question, because I wasn't expecting anything, really.

Oxford, MA - geez, it's just somewhere to go, isn't it?

I'd do all that. But, who am I kidding, I wouldn't really.

But, someday, years from now, I'll look at my friends,

(I'll probably make friends at college)

And I'll ask, "did I ever have such good friends as I had in high school?

when we would dress in suits and read poetry and carry notebooks?"

then I'll laugh and say, "Well, what was I expecting?"

And, right now, I'm not sure what.