she could be quoting my words
(from another time)
driving through the town with its decrepit
buildings, broken down cars
crashed in signs
and lack of traffic
i whisper across to him,
“what a dump.”
within five seconds
(the time it takes to remember
my favorite novel,
to recount the town’s significance,
to get to the other end)
she announces,
“what a cute little town.”

a day later
we sit on the porch
where two disabled neighbors wait
to board the
fifteen-passenger bus
with cracked windshield,
rust-covered roof,
and a muffler heard a mile away.
“look, it’s a limousine,”
the oldest daughter this time,
and i wonder if it
is my perception
or theirs
that is invalid.