Mayday (No, I promise we're okay.)

Brand new (old) blue cars
speed by.
I hand them the keys to
father's '67 Chevy and remind
them that
Cleveland is soft with patchy fog
at this time of night.
With a glance and a nod, he's
off
into the faux forest of
pretty houses with tulips lined
up
like
toy
soldiers
at Christmas
and smirks refracting in
the bright suburban (faux) lights.
(Keep it fake.)

Meet me in LA where Summer
reminds me of a muggy pond.
Hop, Hop the frogs go,
"Oh, why this early in the morning?"
I croak to the sound of the telephone
in the living room,
Calling to brother in what we fondly call
the City.

"Oh, Sweet Darling, you remind
me of the swamp in which you once
lived."
The spiders spin webs.
The factory churns out city maps
complete with legend and bus schedule
for free. I
smile a soft crescent of moon and
laugh at father's jokes.
He promises to take me to the bridge in
good 'ole
Blueberry Country. We settle
back into the swing on the
porch
as Mother joins us.