What more can I say about Renouf Drive
to you, oh parked car on the avenue?
You hear my stories of galloping down the sidewalk
with liquor bottles and White Owl tubes
at the ready, light beer cans shook up,
blurred text messages and declare a nostalgia hour
in your silence. When you whirr on the highway
you say less. Your shiny black exterior
reveals my teenage past in all its grandeur:
hawking crop-tops on the steps, retreating
emotionally to polish my veneer,
the cuss words on the bus, the matchbook
desperation. The end came too soon.
You can’t be 20 on Renouf Mountain.

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