I have some relatives
in the over-medicated suburbs
of Boston.

I recall waiting in cold cars
in the calm, gray labyrinth
of cul-de-sacs and skies.

And in cold cars I saw my
breath, and my breath on
the air like smoke;
the breath of.

And then inside, with the
weak coffee and red eyes -
and over-due birthday
twenties;
I smelt gasoline and board
games.