What's with these geese always wandering around by the museum? It looks different at night. There were boats out here a few months ago, when I gave Chris a ride to buy a bike from a pilot in the turnaround. The pilot was young, he said he hadn't been biking since his father died. My ears got cold so I waited in the car. Chris came back with a pretzel. It's so empty here now, where the boats were, the pretzel stand. I'm standing in the ghosts of them. I wonder how old the geese are. Were they alive then? What do they want from the closed museum? Chris sold the bike, it was too small for him. What happened to the pilot? His father?
Elisa Gabbert Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2022, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|