Plains – A Poem by Rowe Williams

My friend and I drive 
on one of America's many arteries.

We have been on our trip for hours
of interspersed talk and quiet.

The quiet is almost comfortable.
Music drowns out the part that isn't.

The talk is candid, indicative of
a close (but not centimeters close) friendship.

The two young males are trying to figure
what to do about their dulled emotions.

Dangerous like a dull knife.
Dangerous like quiet is, sometimes.

Meanwhile the night landscape
passes by unseen.

With the emotion of miles of dried grass.
Which is to say, none at all.

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