Roadside Romantic [V3]

the road to the reservation
is pockmarked with forgotten relics
lost to the avaricious fingers of time

there is a rusted out car older than me
the way your father is older than you
a car that once had nicotine stained hands on the wheel
and warm impressions on the seat
like a glowing ember resting in the snow
now it lies dormant and alone in a field of weeds and grass
with a for sale sign perpetually in its windshield

there is a small withering stream surviving deep within
the gorge below a wooden bridge
the walls of the canyon are far wider than the stream itself
an echo from a more powerful time when water
was the most dominant force on earth
but the stream will never disappear
only change direction
depth and disposition

there is an abandoned gas station
with windows covered by cheap rotting plywood that you
could find propped up against a dumpster
the paint is chipping and a fallen tree has collapsed the roof
written on the facade with black spray paint
temporarily closed
in lazy looping words like you would find
in a child's handwriting book

there is a fire hydrant hidden in the tangled brush
with no building to become a blaze for miles
no destruction to give it life
further down the road is a stoplight hanging from tethers
more noose than tightrope
and the burning color of purpose has long since left

the looming pines that line the path to the reservation
act as a guide and a shepherd for these forgotten relics
ushering them into the memory of a
roadside romantic