I’d just been to Goodwill
and the recycling center
when I pulled up beside the other Lauren
returning from a run.
I was feeling light, blithe with the lifted weight
of unwanted stuff dropped off
and I let the car idle
while we talked through the open window.
I had finally finished applying to grad schools
and the horizon past the low uplands north
toward Tontitown was purpler than usual,
colored by some unknown front.
With the engine chugging, the car light
and primed to drive, I talked freely
with the other Lauren about dogs,
laptop problems, cookies and champagne.
Everything I said was right
and everything she said was right too,
and the sun dipped
to keep being free, to indulge the illusion
of a profligacy of options,
to live in endless evening
just words and Laurens and burning gas.