Waits is growling 'bout the one that got away

by Tom Blessing

and i remember
all those poems
i thought of
while driving
from detroit to
the keweenaw
those poems
that were lost
in my memory
along dark
highways
beneath a
full moon
reflecting off
frozen waves
along the shores
of Lake Superior
while tea
cooled in
the cup holder
and Tom growled
from the speakers
and morning
seemed no
more than
a despicable
moment
where everything
seems distant
and false