THE ROUTE HOME

Joanna Weston

ride a canoe out of my mother's body
thrusting the paddle into her blood

jump high to ride a BMX fast
                  front wheel skidding on clouds
until a red dirt crash
                   shimmy of gravel
                   bruised elbows knees ego

roll over to face guttered gum
plastic pipes, broken CDs
torn bubble-wrap

wander on, drunk
to pick crushed chip bag
kick torn paper and needles
                  from the mouth of a stray dog
and lurch to the cornerstore

lean and suck one mouth after another
fondle buttocks tight
wash semen into cinders
                  from last night's fire

at last my gray hair drifts
catches on bones carved arthritic
beside the final steep highway
with its end six foot long
between thin blood and mutated skins