the driver sings:

“DOWN TO PULASKI’S AS FAR AS I GO!”

The tune stays with me, right down

to the jaunty way he sings the words

again and at every stop

until I get off at Western.

That was twenty years ago.

Very often—while making breakfast

or during a lull in conversation—

I’ll sing: “DOWN TO PULASKI’S AS FAR AS I GO!”

I sing it while walking the dog

and while washing dishes.

It’s my travel song,

road ballad, accented foolish hymn.

Yesterday I heard you in the other room

folding laundry, humming

and then, yes, you sang:

“DOWN TO PULASKI’S AS FAR AS I GO!”

I knew you were mine.