New York Route

solemn window face
sun spot streaked,
aware
He hates her.
I don't hate the window girl.
I am not in love with her.

I did everything
Hatred feared.
I'm sorry.
In unapologetic fashion.
I offer tomatoes, radio wire
clear clean slices
leave a lot to be desired
in Georgia
at 17
perpetual motion
roaming gaudy sunsets
impractical as goth

My father hates travel
constant movement
But the window girl is a whimsical image
Excessive, hedonistic blend
City transplant
at the end of the ride,
the window girl dies.