There was nothing left in the Chrysler Station Wagon with the broken frame
(the car that had "OK Genetic Engineering - Quality Clones since
1984" stenciled in white on its sides)
except for the can of Pabst with the faded label.
Must have been sitting there at least two years
since that night I threw it into the station wagon
along with my sleeping bag
and drove across town.
Pulled up on an unfamiliar, tree shaded street.
Went to sleep.
The really depressing thing was how much she looked like me.
He went to Colorado for a weekend
and met a woman who looked just like me.
Invited her to visit him.
Incredibly, she was a photographer.
He lived downstairs and the noise carried.
forward anywhere lines