porchswing

i prefer
my tools
my instruments
my songs
my jeans
and my life
to have wear marks
that i put there
or that someone i know did
real scars
not made to look
that way
i prefer my girl
and my life
and my poems
to have survived
so much together
that the scars line up
and form a road map of
lived-in comfort
like the chopping block
or an old work bench
the quilt my mother had
all worn out
and the seasons
worn off
of its bones
i prefer
my history
to the movies
more each day
and i prefer you
now that we have a few years
on the the engine
i just hope
it runs awhile
before it breaks down
let it go gray
and let the laugh lines
get deep
with years of the greatest emotion
i like to think you will be rusty
americana art
resting on the rims
in the sideyard
for all to see
right next to me
look
he drove that one
years ago
before he got so
scarred and old
and rusted to the rims
right
beside her