On Roads

We ride in the car, one that won’t break
Over these roads. Four of us: three from my life now
And me, then and now.
 
Over roads I traveled as a teenager uncountable times,
Swigging pop to stay awake in the early morning
After work on summer nights
 
Driving back to my home in a rusty Jeep Wagoneer.
Down the dirt road, past the corn field
to my splintered home.
 
But that was years ago, not now.
“It’s beautiful here,” they say.
I shrug and am blind to it.
 
It’s too littered with words and scenes.
In each brown shriveled leaf and curve of road
I see a sharp, searing moment.