The Other Lauren

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
	++beckoning me

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.