Drive
Posted by Marion Smallwood | Filed under Poetry, Print
Sometimes,
I get lost in you
for days at a time,
following the dusty maps
in your rusty abdomen.
And sometimes,
I find you thumbs up,
hitchhiking
around the daydreams
I keep tucked
in the naked nook of my right arm.
There is dirt on our faces
and weeping pennies in our pockets
but we are
happy?
Tell me there is something
between us.
A difference, perhaps.
That makes us,
wandering city-drenched lovers,
distinguishable
from those
who know the way.
Or that maybe
the polluted mile-markers
stabbed into the backs
of the grass that hug gravel roads
will one day
take me somewhere familiar
and that you
will be with me.
I wonder
where we’re going.
