Driving around the roads
my hand in his
the crunch of the gravel
under the wet tire

in your dad’s quarry
the damp thick of the air
in which two hearts lingered
suspended there
for a few tragic years
one higher than the other
before they came undone
plummeting and shattering

still collecting mine
from various memories
the roads were always drenched
not raining but wet
everything reduced
to a bleak misery
outside of us

the dull sun peeping
from behind the clouds
never showing its embarrassed face
and roads eroded years later

worlds apart
that place
I call home
is the simple taste of tobacco
on your kiss.

(c) Copyright 2011 Laura Rahill