a poem a day for a year #194

by Amy Turn Sharp


I have a fondness for crunchy gravel driveways and parked cars with Neil Young on the radio. It is dark. We have much to say to each other, but we can't get it out. The windows of the house are lit like fire and we sing softly to each other. We sing at car windows. Our voices harmonize out of habit.If it were winter, we would fog it up.