by Theresa Lockhart
People used to flick cassettes from car windows,
Keep driving, laughing, rejecting songs no
Longer worth hearing, in their opinion.
Roadside ribbons blow casually upward,
Pretending they are attached to balloons
That never touch the ground,
Instead they settle in static coils amidst weeds and gravel.
Abandoned vegetable stands,
Crosses in memoriam and
Were these tossed out a window as well?
If picked up and gently unwound, would someone
Else be able to hear the songs of our past?
Theresa Lockhart lives and teaches in Michigan. Her work is forthcoming from Kaleidotrope.