Final Stretch

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FINAL STRETCH


As those accustomed to the road 

will testify, it’s when you recognize

a Carolina pine beside the road,


or windows down you catch the slow

molasses of a Chattanooga night 

(depending on where is home,)  


that suddenly the clock decides

to be a silver Buick in the left

lane, or mile-markers when you


really need to pee. Every drive 

can boast such a final stretch, 

when really all that’s left to do 


is light another cigarette and count

reflectors as they disappear beneath

balding tires. This is, I must admit, 


advice I hope to give to a son

one day as he is growing weary

of the world. It means, my boy,


we're almost Home. 

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