Tires on wet concrete highways,
shiny and
sleek, jolt me awake
as you swerved to miss
the pothole.
Mileage climbing higher on your
’98 Jeep,
putting small towns
and corn fields behind us.
We watch the fuel light on
the dashboard.
Passenger seat,
with feet outstretched, leaving
shoe prints on the glove compartment. Drinking
cold coffee, staying
awake by eating
hot Cheetos and playing
Fleetwood Mac
Off-key karaoke across state lines,
pop ballads for Maryland
Tom Petty when we cross
the Mason-Dixon,
90’s rap in Knoxville, Tennessee.
Electric music for when we stop
and I get a tattoo on my sternum in
Nashville.
Missed exits and
low tire pressure.
Motels and plastic cups of
green tea.
Smoke in our lungs
just to pass the time, during
still traffic in the South.
It is golden hour, and
I watch the sun reflect in
thick beams off of
the side mirror.