the freeway of love –
that’s what we’ve called it
since the first week
we moved here
and began navigating
life in our new city
and we smiled
when traffic reports
of snarls and slow
downs brought back
memories of route 3
and real traffic
four years on
I wonder if
anyone has ever
calculated which car
moves things from
a crawl to a halt
which circumstance —
the pinhole in
the upstairs pipe
the sick schnauzer
my allergies your
disappearing dad
leaves us caught
once more in the rush
hour of the heart
stuck in grief
minds still racing
no exit in sight
but we can sing . . .
life is a highway
god bless the broken road
we’re going riding
on the freeway of love
and we can’t look back
Peace,
Milton
