The road is straight enough,
but it needs work.
Cars rough and tumbleweed
to stay between the ditches.
A billboard leans in the wind;
cracked, peeling, but constant
in my passenger side eye.
This Dream Is Fraught With Meaning
in Comic Sans.
"You know that much about music?" he asks.
I don't care for his tone,
his insistent hands,
or the crush of his too shiny boots.
Why, yes, I do, friend. That and more.
I know that a waltz is not a two step
no matter how
you dust the floor.
For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads