The road is
A woman
Almost naked
Draped
In scanty strands
Of yellow and white
A maiden
Stained
Here and there
With skids of
Burnt rubber
From runaway semis,
And the blood
Of a fawn
Half eaten by
Vultures
I can’t fool this one
She’s seen too much
And knows that
I’m just like all
Of the other men
Who’ve trampled her
I carve both wheels
Into her body,
Ripping mercilessly
Through her hills
And bends;
A fully-fledged
And fictional
Version of
Myself who’s
Got it all figured
Out and
Feels no pain
She’s the only
One who can see
Through the act
Like the hard-nosed
Highway patrolman
I dread spotting
In my mirrors
Who’s heard the same
Excuses a million times
And won’t hesitate
To ruin me
But she doesn’t sell me out
She only leads me to water
And holds my head in
Until I flail about
Begging to be reborn
To be saved
From my false self
And all of his
Empty promises
Maybe
One day I’ll kiss her
But it will be
An accident
A thunderbolt
A miscalculation
A Greek tragedy
And
The skin that
Her pot holed visage
Takes from my body
Will be the price
Of her silence
The road
Is a woman
My woman
And I only
Bleed for
Her
— Ian Zulick
