We’re rolling along.
The sun’s out and the
roads are mostly clear.
Headed down Roanoke
mountain in the shade,
getting out every so often
to snap a picture,
or try to shove a
snowdrift.
You’ve got a tape
stuck into my old car’s
tapedeck—some guy
you met down on the
Market playing some
old timey clawhammer tunes:
This is the first day in weeks
we haven’t fought. We can
breathe a little, tell ourselves
it was cabin fever is all.
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