Red Bus

Should we grieve each other?
We’re both still alive.

Our sadness feeds on bitter fumes,
and memories ride a red bus.

Are you leaving?
My peace of mind takes the window seat.

What little’s left
belongs to neither you nor me.

I’ll give this misery another name.
Please — give me back mine.

Keep your grievance, and my forgetting —
but travel on a red bus.

This forgetting, too, is a long halt.
Let’s stretch our legs awhile.

Let’s imagine we never loved each other:
just rode together on the red bus.