My brother’s bird
at the wheel

She leads us
manicured

down past 50
year-old signs

pointing turns
here & there

& down one
we ventured

through open
windows the wind

startled &
caught our hair

Over the roof
a playground

game of trees
Arms shaded

we forcing us
to get an early

night English
springsummer

(green filtered
tips oh notso green

or greener yes
but green & light)

leading us
away from the

lots to the nots
But if we were

all happy then
maybe I’ll go there.