And Albert Armour settles in his car
to go very far away.
Love didn’t work; his Ford will.
Things will be better when he’d driving the hills,
the banked roads,
cheating the yellow line,
feeling the fine handling
of a vehicle that always responds.
The miles slip under
his wired up muffler,
and the late afternoon sun glares off the hood,
closing his eyes a bit,
warming his steering knuckles
as nothing else could.
The gravel crunches under his tires
as he pulls to the side for the night,
the stars the only light on the road.
Albert stares at the gauges,
COLD and EMPTY,
and the speedometer says zero.
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Copyright © 2008 by Bradley Steffens
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