We drive with the windows down
Letting sticky August fingers tangle our hair.
Ribbons of dust and gravel wave alongside
Miles of spent cotton rows.
Ramshackle houses, eyeless and idle,
Stand guard over engine block boneyards.
Rusted fenders and cinder blocks shade old dogs
Sniffing out a familiar stench.
We drive past bent neighbors, vacant,
Staring at nothing but their troubles.
Along the way he tries to sing my favorite song
But I’d rather hear the radio.
On past the riverbed and unmarked graves,
We drive with the windows down, watching
As dark curtains pull across the flat blue sky
And all the constellations ignite.
When we drive past the county line his sex
And velvet voice says, you know I love you.
And in my own distant way I say, love me,
If you can, just keep driving.
More of my poems from this collection were shared at Underfoot Poetry in 2018 along with a “Chapbook Confession”. Find the entire collection here for only $2.99, and please, leave a review. Your time and words will be very appreciated!