North Ave

Fresh starts start on foggy days, maybe.
Or in the office of a soft-spoken man

whose hand shakes as he draws circles on a map.

There's anticipation in the mundane drive

back and forth on North Avenue.

The starts and stalls of midday traffic

mimic the rhythmic bipolarity of your moods:

when all the lights are green you're flying high,

slow turns and sluggish garbage trucks remind you of your humanness.

You circle the block in confidence

before admitting defeat in the guise of a parking garage;

when you leave again you go right, then left,

then take a different road home,
for now.