The Five-Mile Radius

I knew exactly when the light would turn green

before the bumper even reached the line.

The water tower still says 'Class of 99'

in a fading, spray-paint scab.

I drove past your house.

The Chevy is still on blocks in the grass,

sinking into the clover and the oil.

The funeral was short.

The dirt was the same color as the road.

I kept checking my watch

to see how long until I could leave

the place that knows exactly how I failed.