broken challenge

I still drive by the place
rampant in Queen Anne's lace and chicory.
Nature overran civilization.
Rules stopped at the sidewalk-
they didn't follow the path
behind the burned out buildings
along the train tracks
then behind the apartment building
where no one but stray cats walked
and we laid in the grass,
your hands caressing my shaky legs.

Picking grass out of your hair,
eyes glazed, fingers weaved together,
I would have married you.
Happily ever after hadn't given way
to cynicism and brokenness yet,
but when the rain started
neither of us had a clue.

The phone never rang.
It started with "passed away unexpectedly"
and ended in a funeral: closed casket.

I drive by that place now
and asphalt instead of wild carrots
meets the sidewalk
then leads up to a deserted car lot.
The train tracks lead to an abandoned field
littered in broken beer bottles and sadness.
We planted memories, twenty years ago,
the best intentions and love two kids could muster,
and all there is to reap
is poison sumac and broken Old English bottles.