who you tell your dreams to

We were driving down the freeway, you and me in the pick-up truck and your girlfriend in between where you could move the gear shift and it would mean so much to you
and you saw something that you thought was beautiful, and you said, “look at the lines, look at how it was made” and you were inspired by the beauty of an everyday object no one else noticed
and your girlfriend, riding in the middle said “that’s him, people think he’s crazy” and i thought, “no, it just depends on who you tell your dreams to” but i couldn’t say it in the truck i wouldn’t say it

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Chicago Poet Janet Kuypers
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