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roadtrip musings #3
dusk.
that six o'clock traffic rush.
the blue that's painting the skies,
the same blue as my mama's eyes.
don't you remember?
that little old pickup truck,
seats faded from the summer sun.
and
sometimes,
with a but of luck,
you'd let me ride shotgun.
everything just feels
(too)
that six o'clock traffic rush.
the blue that's painting the skies,
the same blue as my mama's eyes.
don't you remember?
that little old pickup truck,
seats faded from the summer sun.
and
sometimes,
with a but of luck,
you'd let me ride shotgun.
everything just feels
(too)
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