Interstate Driver

Copper-colored lightning
bangs against cast iron cloudsFat family caravans
saunter lazily across the lanes

Quickening, sprinkles become drops
Drops become showers
Showers become downpours
And the roadway disappears

Raging 18-wheelers
jockey for positions in a race

Tiny cars like this one
await imminent demise as they cautiously drive

I-94 swings
like a ribbon in my daughter’s hair

Memories intersect
On ramps, off ramps to the past
Lead me to dream of a future
And the roadway disappears

Pulling into town, directions followed
I like a drug runner make the drop and fly away

A long drive to return to things I’ve always know
but will never see the same again.

Published by Adam

Adam F. C. Fletcher helps organizations engage people more successfully. Contact him by calling (360) 489-9680 or emailing info@adamfletcher.net.

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