poetry by j matthew waters

three days on the road

the top is down
tom petty and del
my backseat companions
roses and irises freshly cut
buckled in the front seat

I’m bound to discover
how many revolutions per minute
my little four banger can go
at least high enough
to make my eyes well up

mile markers
look like little green crosses
for some reason
reminding me of missions
so many moons ago

highway sounds fluctuate
like those cumulus clouds
playing peek-a-boo with the sun
affecting the radio waves
and my erratic memories

july two thousand nineteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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