By Clarissa Smith

 

Those long miles down old gray roads,

Roller coasters on the way to roller coasters,

Coast to coast, talking in codes,

The leaking pipes, the broken toasters.

 

Those moments driving between here and there,

Seeing the corn and it brings back the corny conversations,

Rows of conversations about how we weren’t aware

That things would change without regarding our considerations.

 

Those brief seconds of silence when our souls are wishing,

Missing the porch steps, the big snows, the raccoon,

The one we hit with the pickup on the way back from fishing,

Not knowing how life would hit, but we’re on the way back soon.

 

We went back for the raccoon, but he was gone—

Maybe his ghost runs around haunting us to the core

So we’ll always remember how things will feel wrong

Unless we somehow get back to how life was before.

 

Those long miles down old gray roads,

Remind us of what’s gone away;

Those slow moments driving here to there

Remind us, and we don’t know what to say.

 

But they leave us wishing we could go back somehow

If only the time clock would allow….

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