The road weeps
some

& its mascara
sticks to the tires.

Mud’s greasy breath,
spluttered on the windshield,
oldens the fields and winding
road ahead to an early
nineteen seventy something

photograph.

Shards of broken rock find
comfort and warmth
in my wheels’ tread.

The road,

I know, scatters them
there

so when comes time
to ride out again,

it can glean me
up

once more.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

___________________

Photo :  Jean-Michel HATTON