Old Poem of Me and No Place in Particular

Don’t you

like to clean you ears -- 

to see how much wax you can gather up at once?

Don’t you like the smell of gasoline?

Don’t you prefer dandelions
to be flowers

And not weeds

Don’t you hate to forget

Important things

Don’t you like

to drive

to nowhere

to think

I do.

I put my hands

on warm things.

Like the hood of my parents’ car

Like the back of your neck

I know where your hands

are worn

in the same way mine are

and I like to watch them when you play my guitar

I like to close my eyes

And walk and walk and walk,

Until I become

embarrassed

That I don’t know

where I am going next.