Midwest

by bru

The reflection in the window
looks like mountains.

And for a moment I picture myself somewhere
out there amongst a Western state.

Holding out my right arm for a handshake
to the snow on top of the mountains

or a handshake from the bottom
of a new next door neighbor's closet;

empty except for a few photo albums
and a few letters never sent
and a few words never said
and too few lies never meant.

I am going home in an hour
and will watch flat lands seep past my eyes.

Here in the midwest,
the holes in the streets come out as mountains on the other side.