But were cars on two roads.
Her battle-worn Chevy running on vapors
And his ragtop Mustang with newly signed papers
Pulled in to the same town on the same day,
Parking up at the same cafe
Road weary, in need of rest.
Sipping his coffee, he noticed her dress
Cut just a little low, ginger hair
And a white ringed finger.
Her age-sharpened eyes were sizing him up.
She seemed to be laughing over the rim of her cup.
His college boy mind felt the thrill,
The wonder, heard the crash of twisted metal,
The shower of glass, the driving heat, the melting fire –
He blinked. He swallowed. He began to perspire…
She finished her coffee and put down her cup,
Smiled at the boy and approached his table.
His heart skipped a beat as she bent over
And whispered, “You know I’m old enough to be your mother?”
His college-boy mind heard screeching tires,
Smelled burnt rubber, felt the jolt of brakes.
He skidded to a halt in a cloud of smoke,
Feeling abashed and somewhat a joke.
She laughed as she stood and paid for her drink,
And over her shoulder cast a knowing wink.
The boy watched her go, but remained at his table.
He wanted to stand, but he was unable.
feature photo: Shutterstock
(Writing Prompt: DRIVING, part of poetry 101 rehab– Thanks, Andy! Feel free to jump on the poetry wagon each Monday!)
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