Monday, September 12, 2016

Road Ghosts

It’s all strewn along the
side of the highway.
The pieces of lives,
scattered on a cement
beach. Forced there by
the tides of automobiles.

There’s sheet metal, parts
of exploded tires, buckets,
gloves, the occasional shoe,
I saw a pair of jean shorts this
morning, glass, rags, whole
car bumpers, and garbage.

I’ve often wondered how a
shoe, a flip flop, a tee-shirt, or
jean shorts, might wind up in
a heap on the side of the highway.
How does this stuff pile up on the road?
How is it unnoticed by those that lost it?

I’m sure there are accidents to blame,
crashes, fender benders, and other
collisions. But a shoe? A single shoe?
Or the jean shorts I saw this morning?
If it was luggage that fell off and scattered
clothes all over I could see that, but no. Just one pair.

How did those jean shorts find their way there?
Was it a fight with a lover and out the window
they went in an act of cruelty? An act of
exhibitionism? Something dangerously
promiscuous? Were they drying them in the
speeding wind and , poof, lost them?

What about the one shoe that wasn’t there
during yesterday’s commute? How did one
shoe decide to come to rest on the side of the
highway? Who is limping around with only one
shoe, struggling to find the other? Do they not know
where it went?

The stories for the debris on the side of
the road is innumerable.  They’re ghosts.
They’re memories. They were something,
to someone, sometime. Now they’re haunting
these words, along with the roads, with
their mysteries.  

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