Pothole


Out of damns for the world, so I’m chilling in
my sand colored Highlander
cruising passed the snow-capped trees to desolate
peaks with my camera in the passenger seat.
Ready to receive the glimpse of the
cloudy,
muggy,
world
my low-pressure tires wheeling on the forever long,
pothole filled roads,
praying I don’t hear a rugged
pop, even though I’m not going to stop.
Car stereo blaring Mac’s sharing of Self Care lyrics
unveiling my discouraged inner
thoughts,
within my isolated surroundings.
“Oblivion, yeah, yeah,” being repeated,
slowly soaring to the top
covering up the empty damns
I have for the world that are all
but forgot.
Not sorry, I drift in solitude.
I’m only here for the ride.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem