Sometimes I sit in my backyard
listen to the cars in the distance
I wonder where they’re going
Who’s in them
Are they tired or scared
or ready to go out
or dying to go in
or living in sin
or an upstanding human singing along
with the radio or cursing other drivers
for driving too slow
and which one of them goes home to love and which one of them goes home to hate and which one of them goes home alone
and which ones don’t make it home at all
I guess someday we all fall
Another night in the highway tales
that mean nothing more than a girl
who’s imagination is bored

~kb