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Huskey Mountain Ode
Gravel crusted potholes, all slathered up with mud,
And ruts that jar your bones served on the side.
No place to turn around: I know because I've tried;
The heavy rains bring washouts from flash floods.
A great big hill so steep it evokes fear and dread
(When sloshing in a truck with two-wheel drive).
A ravine filled with brush, and trees no more alive,
Old tires guide wayfarers where to tread.
Out near 231, the forest's sounds subside;
The asphalt groove song echoes in your head.
And there, just 'round the bend, that quiet sense of dread:
The trail down to the place the woman died.
The big wide world awaits: four-lane divided life
To work and church and friends and so much more.
A fleeting mirror's glance; the heart takes flight to soar
To land, to lodging, daughter's family, wife.
Gravel crusted potholes, all slathered up with mud,
Like servings of my favorite dessert.
The tires turn to joy as paved gives way to dirt;
This road's my home: there's Huskey in my blood.
Copyright ©
Jeff Kyser
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