The Road

This is us waking up
White room, white sheets, bright sun
A coffee cup, a dirty spoon, sandwich royale
We talk to talk, we don't get far
We laugh and give each other bits of real
We make up the rest

This is breaking up
A rumbling jungle midnight run
We stumble in the dark, we fall
We don't know where or who we are
We cry and tell each other "how we feel"
We love a little less

This is us making up
We're drunken demons, we sashay on
A parking lot; there's writing on the wall
The cramped backseat of a car
The road, the dark, the steering wheel
We get undressed

PoemThomas Mook