Another Drive Through Paradise

It’s a beautiful morning, I say.
Why do you say that, he asks.
Look around. It’s beautiful, I tell him.

I’m pretty used to this kind of thing.
It’s not that he can’t see, or doesn’t know
what makes a morning beautiful.

We get to my office. No one’s there;
only the janitor, finishing a morning mop.
Busy little place you got here, he says.

He says this wherever we go, busy or not;
and when we ride around town, he looks
out the window, points out the hydrants,

the stores we pass, the guy on the bike,
the busses and parking lots, the trees
and the same store we just drove past

five minutes ago, as if they’d just built it,
as if I’d missed him pointing it out to me
for the third or fourth time this morning.

Yup. Yup. Yup, I say every time he points
and names. Sometimes I just stay silent.
He goes right on pointing and naming.

I drop him off at home. I tell him I’m going
back to my office, I’ve got a ton of paperwork.
Why do you say that, he asks.

——[|]——
Passenger
—————[|||]—————

2 thoughts on “Another Drive Through Paradise

  1. Pingback: Another Drive Through Paradise — Scrambled, Not Fried | Jane Wilson

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