It reminds me of telling someone
they'll always be something,
until they die- the old road
wrinkled with cracks,
while the new highway isn't
a smooth ride either- my tires
slowly balding as I go grey,
and after three days in a car,
our conversations can't help
but go flat, like that low carb bread
the doctor recommended, trying to keep us
alive a little longer, our mouths too full
to admit one day there'll be no more
trips back east or west for us,
only newer routes,
leading to the same destination.
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