Canned Peaches

I want nothing more than a
California License
And an open summer
With which I will find peace in
90° weather at
7 in the evenings.

The scent of
Canned peaches
And the hum of noisy crowds
Dulled by the distance
As we sit on that forsaken racing track
Where the only thing racing
Is my pulse.

Remembering good days makes me realize
How close I am to
Wanting to live again,
Maybe.

Canned Peaches

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