Out to the Hard Road

The road to Southampton is layered with days 
in different directions
you   driving an ecru sedan
through potato dust velvet   asphalt 
beyond Patchogue   Yaphank   Ronkonkoma 
and one of us always gave in
at the Center Moriches turn
the road narrows down to a sudden thirst
and Sally twirls her famed lemons
one eye out for the boys in blue.

Part of our secret lay hidden 
in Monday's pocket   for comfort 
we always go back
to our graves.

I never told you how much it hurt   leaving 
casting myself adrift like a wounded ship 
not the sharp edge of alone   kills 
but no seen ending to over 
reluctance   lining my mouth 
potato dust   on the last shortcut
out
to a new September morning.