Exclusion Zone

The alert on my phone said 'Heavy Rain'

for a zip code that hasn't been mine in a decade.

I saw the bridge name in the morning news,

a steel span choked with brake lights and delay.

I remember the off-ramp by the industrial bakery,

that thick, sweet smell of yeast and warm dough

that meant I was three minutes from the driveway.

I won't go back to see what they built

over the patch of dirt where we used to park.

Some places are better left as a smell.