NOVEMBER 2010

the roads in your dreams are paved so smoothly.
there are short trees shedding leaves over sidewalks
the concrete slab kind,
not tarmac;
where sidewalks are probably unnecessary,
next to perfect triangular curbs with rounded tops,
where curbs are probably unnecessary.

and the roads wind a little bit more than they need to,
to appear more natural less subdivided.
and twilight lingers a little longer than it needs to,
to make you feel at peace, especially when you're not.

the roads in your childhood are dirt,
and they get muddy when it rains, and they develop washboard ridges,
and sometimes you fall off your bike and skin your knees and elbows.

there's a small bridge over the fenton river,
where the guy who works at the convenience store parks to eat his lunch and smoke his reds,
and he hits your dog with his car once,
which makes your father angry, but you're just happy your dog is alright.

when you wake up the roads are always full of people.
the sidewalks are always occupied.
you are always preoccupied, even though nothing is on your mind.