as though
they were campaigning
for a political office
the dark and disfigured leaves
of an american elm

the repeated flatness
of the interstate
I roll down the windows
and sing anything out of tune
just to stay awake

ready to vent
over a canceled class
I stare at a phone number
on the bulletin board
about kickboxing

living in
a bilingual household
since two years of age
I've known that "nein"
means "no" in german

60 mile per hour winds
the windows start talking
to each other
as if they are about to ask
for better working conditions

a sense of abandonment
in the brooding
water tower
and the patches of rust
going up the conveyor

dawn at the sunset hills
country club
a goose looking around
as if it had just lost
a golf ball

no room for sleep
listed on this itinerary
the bags under my eyes
all packed and ready
to go on vacation

in the part of town
where laws
are merely suggestions
a boy skateboarding down
the yellow line of state street

the day quickly sinks
into the ribs of a chair
with few of us caring
if blagojevich is
innocent or guilty