We must travel in this direction in order to make our way home.
Through the cloud of putrid stench that hangs around the Water treatment plant.
Past the places we threw our love away
like floppy old winter hats on the interstate.
Repeatedly Submitting to truck tires.
Rising up for a moment in the rush of wind
Longing to be set free,
Only to succumb to the crushing weight and the grind of the pavement again.