And you hit a pothole and blow out a strut
And you stand by the roadside
Kicking the chrome and
Cursing the road maintenance crew
For being too late with a shovel of patch
Saying son of a bitch what a terrible system
And you don’t seem to notice
The headless horse in the crook of a tree,
Or that there is no road, just stink and smoke,
And the days that used to make you curse
Are never coming back.
By Mike Finley

Mike Finley was born in Ohio and now lives in Minnesota with his family. He is author of over 100 books. Visit him online at mfinley.com
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