D. C.

We drive Texas, Arkansas,
Tennessee and Virginia
to deposit you in your new life,
plenty of Corinthian columns
and Greek architecture
to keep you company
as you plunder your childhood
five days a week, fifty weeks a year
for the next forty years
if you're lucky and plucky.
This is what we worked for
but now that it is here - I don't know.
Somehow I thought I'd feel less lonely,
more accomplished. We survived
suicide, the pandemic and Sixth Street
to arrive in the District full of bricks,
red taxis and statuary thick as mosquitos
back home. Wherever you are
is now home. Wherever we are. 
It is quiet here now.
Not a bad silence, just different.
Perhaps this silence is where
I'm supposed to find myself
again. It's been a while.
Perhaps I'll take a walk and listen
to what the cicada have to say.