Taking the Backroad
With your jagged gravel face,
pressed firmly into,
my calloused feet.
My youthful thoughts,
walked a thousand miles,
down your hot and dusty street.
The solitude you gave me,
a reservoir for,
unwritten dreams.
You were too old,
and stood in the way,
of their progress so it seems.
I cried that day they covered,
you in putrid oil,
sticky and black.
You carried away,
my innocents on,
your ugly steaming back.
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