I hope on your way out

A poem to P on his way back east, whenever the hell that is.

California Poppies in author’s mother’s front yard / photo by author

I hope on your way out

The poppies put you to sleep

And it starts to snow

But you don’t ever wake up

No good witch in any direction to come to your aid this time

I hope on your way out

You get lost on your motorcycle on that yellow brick road

No new friends on your journey

And you drive by an orchard and trees will throw their fruit at you

And an apple so sweet throws you off, and it mangles and destroys the only thing you care about.

I hope on your way out

You realize

You have no heart

You have no brain

You have no courage

You never did

And you never could

I hope on your way out

You know this could never be home

You come from a place color doesn’t exist yet

Not sure it ever will for a person like you

Hope you loved your California dream

bye, p. You hurt me. Bad. But damn, did I get so much good shit out of what you did to me / photo taken and edited by author.