We travel the heavy roads

gazing at the maps, remembering

previous trips and pains,

The window was a refuge

from conversation,

an escape portal to in-between-places

not more permission to more

questions and hours of direction-

this way,

not that road,

stop here.

So when I met your family

I expected some direction

(It was only natural)

but now, it’s absolute.

We look at you

and my mechanical ways

leaps into asking direction,

whether I want to

or not.

17 Oct 08

Dave Barber

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