where the writers are
Open Road

Tapping my feet,
feeling the rhythm
of life’s beautiful beat.

Tasting the wind.
Keeping misery
away and thin.

Snapping my fingers,
listening to jazz,
rock-n-roll and
Hip Hop…
well, maybe not.

Loving the beat
of the drums,
twang of the guitar,
thump of the bass,
and the singer’s
deep raspy voice.

Gliding down
fifth and Main
in a bright red
Chevy sixty-eight
ragtop Caprice.

Clinging to the
singer’s soulful voice
as he croons
that beautiful
ballad.

You know the one
that poignant song
about being trapped
in a prison of his own.

Next to me is Kevin,
my husband to be.
I pray, one day, please.
And yes, with him,
I’m in heaven.

Calm, beautiful,
delightful, I feel
whenever I am
with him, and
he says the same
about being
with me.

Playful warm
summer breezes
tangle the curl
of my shiny black
hair.

Sunlight glares
down
highlighting
the brown
of my blissful
eyes.

As we round
around seventh
and glide down
eighth, Kevin
kisses my cheek
with his
tantalizing lips.

I turn up
the radio
and let my
fingers snap
and my foot tap
as the sixty eight
Chevy rips down
the open road.

 

©Lisa Anold