So, you

So, you
as I remember you
in my car

Sitting Shotgun
in a dress pulled up over your knees
faux embarrassed when the breeze caught it.

So, you
calling me from a state I've never been
an audio postcard with veiled references
I missed.

So, you
as you never were
waiting for me as I came home from work
sitting on the front steps, with two beers.

So, you
Once more driving through town,
visting some friends,

but not me.

So, you

old soldier, saluting

as the flag is raised

and a bugle plays taps,

thank you.

So, you

young soldier, listening

to advice from a veteran

in a wheelchair,

pushed by a fellow comrade,

your wars are over

but not forgotten,

thank you.

So, you

people of this small town,

with your patriotic t-shirts,

babies in strollers,

toddlers clutching tiny flags

and dogs festooned with

red, white, and blue,

thank you.

So, you
 with carbon cut hair
 small eyes blackest
  buried in an auburn face, I
 can't help but feel safe
  around you.

 We all may know
that it's a fast food kitchen
you're waltzing your way through
   but we couldn't tell you that.
 You can change your surroundings
    all you want
   you just can't leave.

I can smell memories
on your skin, rising  
like drawing blood.     
I haven't seen this town for years but
I know and I know               
you remember me.     

Escorting your minions
  through the foyer
 with a hand outstretched
  left limp behind you
   twisting your stride like a graceful accident
  waiting to be kissed
 or at least
    held.