Unerasable
fifty-four, like a
teenager – writing our names
in a bathroom stall
along a Georgia
Highway at a truck stop where
we bought boiled peanuts
on the backside of
nowhere as we traveled home
on a June Sunday
through rural towns where
ghosts of hateful cross burners
in white hoods still roam
scenic roads haunted
rimmed with cobalt bottle trees
haint blue porch ceilings
remnants of feelings
fears alive and real linger
like names etched in trees
someone has been here
lovers and haters alike
unerasable
Common Threads 