Metaphor Road

How about we go down that

road; the one that twists and

turns, dips and dives, crests and

drops.

The road near the precipice,

the ledge over the canyon,

the road by the abyss,

the one we never take.

“Shit, I take that road all the time,”

she said. She spit onto the hot

sidewalk and shooed a fly from

her forehead.

“I’m dangerous,” she said. She

tightened the hair bun on her head,

flexing her arms ever so slightly as she did.

“I’m a risk taker,” she said.

“I go off road all the time, dirt bikes,

ATV’s, hiking, paramilitary combat training,

zip-lining and rock climbing. I’m not scared,”

she said.

She had sun ravaged creases on her face,

heavily tanned from her rebellious adventures.

She had a Japanese letter tattooed on her neck,

“It means dragon,” she said.

That road I was referring to, it’s more

metaphorical than literal I explained.

I said it was about love and the perilous

journey it can be.

She spit again, onto the sizzling pavement,

“I don’t do metaphors,” she said.

She put on her leather vest and strolled to her

motorcycle. She started it and rode into the sunset.