IFF

i remembered the lot full of traffic lights.
it was on the other side of the rouse's.

you were going to new york, you said. it made
sense, you said, things being in relation as they are.

now here we are. concrete splayed spindles stretch
across the canal you won't cross unless straddling--
belly down could barely stomach the sight of the drop,
and we don't need that kind of bravery this morning.

rather turn the corner under construction zone and over
the highway, come in through the back, so when we arrive
here, at the lot full of traffic lights, we are no where
near the rouse's. where, then, will you go?