Bill's taste in boys is macabre

with the car doing donuts in the left turn lane
under the bright green arrow of night,
riding over median sidewalk obstructions,
in between here and there
                                            my destination,
I am having the same thoughts as before,

once there was a man
covered in ivy
who, birthed from a tree,
walked toward me,
beside him was a woman,
made from bark of tree,
she raised her arms
toward me, moaning

But I can't quite place them
and my leg is wrapped in brace,
so the time is not quite right,
I was so much younger,
I am walking again,

and I look out to the castle,
meant to be a hospital,
on the left, right, now left,
and catching a glimpse of the driver,
up front, I see that somehow
it's my grandmother
                                 with wheel locked and pedal down
and maybe it hasn't been six years since your death.