Flight, Fight Or
       

Every rearview a lovescape of ex-towns.
Bumper to bumper dear what do you heart?
I favor my left side I favor leaving.
My pheasants can fly but they'd rather run.
Never said feather oars or father me.
Where recipe calls for apricots try fog.
There should have been a strap from yoke to harness.
For record whatever I never kissed the bride.
Here lies the sigh begun nine lines ago.
I miss your wingspan miss your hollow bones.

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Copyright © 2011 Dora Malech All rights reserved
from Say So
Cleveland State University Poetry Center
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission