Potholes

Roads vary

Much like lives

Flexuous paths

Conflicting directions

Surfaces bend

Cracks crinkle

I may not know your history

Yet I know the road

Its random uniformity is obvious

From the people who paved it

To the year it was commissioned

Who paid for it

But, far from the same

As I bound these mounds

Creep over these railroad tracks

And avoid these indentions

As I ride the edge

In almost separate dimensions

I see you

I witness your frown

I gawk at your smile

Yet I do not know you

Then you are gone by a mile

All within a blink

Never seen again

On this lonely parkway

Lord knows where you have been

Are you talking?

Or are you singing?

If it is the former,

Whose ears are listening?

You seem so upset at times

Although the song could be emotional

Does it reach a forgotten place?

If so, from what angle?

I’ve noticed something on your face.

Is it the long drive that permits your thoughts?

Why do they not appear elsewhere?

Is it mere boredom that provokes you?

Or perhaps it’s inevitable

Therefore, you save it for the road and the many few.

Are your words addressed?

Directed at the driver?

Or the casual doe spotlighted by your fog lights?

Or are they for me?

You probably never knew I saw

You probably never knew I existed

Yet, I saw

I felt your words

Even through that illegal tint

I resonated.

I too, think too much

Maybe you don’t

But from your expression

And your choice of this road

You do.

You don’t speed

You can’t speed

The asphalt is hypnotizing

Your body detaches

Allowing your mind to feed.

The evening is intoxicating

Don’t roll down your window

Your body has been waiting

Cage yourself in that leather

Situate

Think

This way

You won’t be able to blink

Pay attention to the road

Let your mind not deter

But align

Turn your ride into a blur

Then, you can succeed

Maybe it was a good song

I don’t know your soul

Yet, I can only imagine

Dodging these potholes.