Gutted

Gutted

A long drive back.

Your hand rests

heavily on my thigh;

Your other clamps

the top of the wheel.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“But hey, it’s over now.

We’ll be fine.”

 

You turn to me,

“You okay?”

 

I don’t want to see your face.

I turn my head and

focus on the scenery.

The whirring rows of tomatoes

blur red

outside my window.

 

Lazy yellow sunlight

settles on my right knee.

 

It’s been a long day.

Photocredits

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