Better Roads

By | 19 February 2008

The roads we drive on are breaking apart.
Potholes riddle the surface, corrugations
catch us out. Each road is a waking dream,
each road is a ruin we're learning to trust.
Every few weeks
the council seals the damage with gravel.

The conversations we have to have
are holding us together. I lean on something
secure as my voice rises in a losing argument.
The children are near, hearing everything
including the doubts. The television restores calm
as I turn on the water for the bath.

The hakea folia wants to blossom again
and jonquils return memories each night
in the hallway. What is beyond the next
few weeks will affect the winds slipping
beneath the front door. Each time we kiss
the draught stops.

This morning a rabbit was splattered on the road
its blood, so unnecessary, remained with me
visceral as a news image. Only the mundane
tips us over the edge – unpaid bills, the kitchen mess.
Our bitumen driveway leads straight onto gravel.
The better roads I imagine, lead straight to you.

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