10-Line Tuesday

August 20, 2019

on the drive home

Pop songs with ubiquitous slant rhymes—“time” and “mine, “move” and “love.”
Nathan’s hot dogs and Aunt Ann’s pretzels. An overpass lined with flags. 
A compact from Quebec. A semi from Indiana. A horse trailer. An Airstream.
Signs that say “Thanks for visiting.” Signs that say “Welcome.” Signs that say 
“Express Lane” and “Exit Left” and “Divided Highway.” Signs like fortune tellers, 
like a shake of the cookie jar, like diamonds. A silver water bottle. Cold red grapes.
A bookend of apple trees. The smeared remnants of a squirrel. Deer, unperturbed,
grazing a stone’s throw from the shoulder. The unshakeable metaphors of departure
and arrival. Mileage like a promise. A sky you can almost feel.
The foot, steady on the gas. The hands, tender at the wheel.