Road Trip To

The road to our past softens as

the rear-view mirror frosts over

and fogs what’s left of you.

Your face, ambiguous against

the grain of artificial relief.

I could only watch as the names

and faces of the past crossed

my mind like tumbleweed,

never to be seen again.

The road signs pointed me

wayward, down, up, this or

that way. I never stopped to

figure out where I was going, but

I enjoyed the company in the

passenger’s seat. They listened to

each and every story I told, even

as I reached looking for my next word.

And didn’t even flinch when I said

I was ready to get off at the next exit.

I wished that it was you that told me

it was okay to let go of the wheel

before I saw that light and looked

back at the ragged road behind and

accepted the conditions of disrepair.