A Road Trip

Well, she said, it’s been a while.

As it had; 40 years or more.

She was young and wanted a lift.

Oh, you must remember –

The road to Canberra

Autumn frost’s silver sheet and blackened trees

Peripheral place names and Kris Kristofferson’s

Sunday Morning Coming Down;

And us, going up and coming down;

Thoughtless oblivion at the helm of a Holden.

Driving to somewhere and nowhere,

Drinking and singing to the road’s end.

And you looked at me as though I didn’t exist;

Not in any real sense, beyond this and that.

You look at me now through tired eyes

As though we shared an epiphany –

All we shared, I recall, was a look

And it, really, didn’t add up to much

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