Drive
The muggy road
coughs the ticker tape
I trace with my eyes.
A piece here…
a piece there
I could spend a day
Wondering what the
asphalt tastes like
If that was a choice
I would fantasize about
doing what I wanted
“STOP” coming only from me
Everything would be left
And feel right
And I could be a glutton
to the singleness of me.
The destination immense,
A sea, a patient sea
that for me, could wait
unlike the Acura on my back
With an assertive fist raised
Against what I do
I am who I am
For me
Not you.
Copyright © Allison Ballard | Year Posted 2012
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