Several Years Since Darin Quit Smoking
We shush out after dinner to put gas
in the old Ranger for next week's trip.
Candy bars -- but they wreck my stomach.
Who keeps at this amazing Christmas
crud. Electric icicles, dancing candles?
Santa inflates and someone whistles,
which implies somewhere else
a faint shrug or frayed pillowcase.
Why does every big white truck
care that I drive twenty-five
home, past dog castles, decrepit
sirens, boxes from epic ez-chairs.
I don't much care for television,
despite its swim around my scalp,
and I'm driving for a little now
again. We've got gas. I forget that --