Evolution

Hooting into lunar dandruff
coagulated, mid-sky
I was an owl
the night I drove through clouds

Wearing a suit jacket
on top of his woolen petticoat
He was a wolf
the day I drove through 1855

Hey, he said, his tail keeping company with his knees.
April dollars won't buy March bread.
What's a girl like you doing with empty pockets?
Get yourself
babies for each breast
a welcome mat
flat and heavy
like you stomach mustn't stay
like your heart can only be

I don't argue
get your grandma
a loaf of bread
Only tell him 'bout the time

in my weathered Honda civic
I followed a sign on a whim and
spun down a side street
into dark gravel
swerving to spare the rabbits
blindly chewing on rocks
the night I drove through clouds
I got gloriously lost
five wheels spinning mud into margarine

I tell him
My heart isn't heavy.

I tell him
My heart sings on empty,

a one woman band,
bells fog stomach and car horns
swelling
with the breath of black swans
and tarmac
and dry red leaves

and I tip my hat