Well, it ends. In an overturned field,
made impassable by frozen mud
in the dead of winter. Hidden
somewhere up ahead. Some unknown
distance. It will end sudden and dirty
crackling straw beneath car wheels
Breaking things already
on the verge of being broken.
And that's it; life is over.
All roads end.
Over the next rise,
or a thousand miles away.
And you're tired. And you're cold.
And you shut off the engine
in the dark. Tilt the car seat back