down the four-hundred and testing my eyes,
which might be weakening,
by looking at the exits and reading the street names and
trying not to crash while I do this.
I have driven this route with you in the passenger seat
on one of the many occasions that
the airport would be our parting-ways.
I have driven this route in the passenger seat
on the way to the airport
to follow you over the ocean, just for a visit.
With bad eyes and a worse memory,
exits don’t bring back the song on the radio
that we sang to together, that I hummed on my own,
and apartment buildings
don’t remind me of where we lived.
Crossing three lanes to the expressway
makes me glad there is little traffic
as speeding home rushes the forgetting
that will get you off my mind.