poetry

Canterbury Road

16 August 2018

Each day I am the gentle road’s uninvited guest.
I give the dirt off the bottom of my shoes in thanks,
And my host lends me its spine to walk.
Faded to a cheap grey with age, it is always happy to see me:
Small asphalt crystals reflect the light,
Winking and smiling shyly
As my feet tap out a rushed good morning and goodnight.

It’s only a certain evening shadow
That reveals the unsettling warp of the road’s body, once so perfectly smooth.
Only then can one see just how carelessly time has dipped its toe in the asphalt,
Taken pleasure in watching the ripples mark the street.
This road is the tide that swells and breaks unseen.

Embarrassed by the honesty of the cracks in its skin;
These silent scars, not deep enough to fill with tar,
Bear the humility of all that is seldom noticed.
How many times have I hurried across this road
And not felt its crippled back aching beneath my shuffling feet?
How many years has it lain here, quiet,
Content in its unending suffering.


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