Interstate by Scott Repass

​Don’t tell me about the stadium lights,
tell me about the grass.
 
Put on your shoes
the train doesn’t run there anymore
the streets gleam like linseed oil.
 
When my throat closed,
I couldn’t eat the plates of cookies or the casseroles
and I had no way of using all those cut flowers.
 
Don’t tell me about the stadium lights –
tell me about the parking spaces
and the leaning trees
and the lying down
on the other side of the bayou, where the on-ramp
bends to meet the interstate.

Previously published in Passager

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About Scott Repass
Scott Repass is a writer, educator, and bar owner. His novel, Last Call Lounge, was the winner of the 2012 Houston Writers Guild Novel Contest.