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Bryan John Appleby

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Bryan John Appleby

Highway 1Am

Dark fog
A lonely rag wrapped up around the house
My car is parked and running
Beer rolling down my mouth
Then I see him
He should be sleeping
Not staring at his old man on the stoop
Snap my fingers
Make him scatter back to bed
Crack another can
And lace my boots
Think to myself
Kid, if you were me
Then you would too

Wind along down Highway 1
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Blind in the ghosted dawn
Blending the lines
Barreling through the fog
Red trees are calling for my car

What am I doing?
Little white crosses line the road
Right before I pass out
I see you sleeping
In your room

Rub my eyes
Walk for miles
Back to you