Jonathan Baker

One More Road

for CS Mathews

Ephemeral,
intangible,
spiritual,
like that night with the whiskey glass
and it wouldn’t work, 
and we tried, 
and we tried,
and we tried.
I was hurt,
and his license plates were expired.
She and I,
we held each other
through the puffs of smoke.
We were enthusiastic failures.
We were ecclesiastic quitters.
And the broken glass,
not from the whiskey glass,
but from the windshield 
cut my feet on the pavement
as I showed how I could 
walk tall and proud for the officer,
and he told me 
to turn around and return,
but I wanted to keep walking forever 
until I returned to her.
First to the ground 
that drank her blood,
and then to the sky 
that ate her spirit.

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