The Road

You and your relationship
With the road you love so much
When you’re sitting beside it

And hours go by with no one,
No vehicle, not even
A cyclist riding down it—

Doesn’t it occur to you
That affection is absurd?
The road’s built to be driven.

You found it by driving it.
You’re fond of its smooth asphalt,
Its flawless curves in the pines.

What idiocy to want
The road for contemplation,
Mostly for just looking at,

The road with no one on it,
The road to sit down next to
And savor its emptiness.

Would you want time with a wash
When it’s dry from summer drought?
With an airport without planes?

Ok, sure, maybe you would.
The road falls silent. Only
Wind and your grin crossing it.