Needless to say, against my will.

A road trip, is a road trip, is two people at least,
Taking the time to travel by byway, down
Country road and highway, seeing sights and
What they please, while talking, and singing,
Telling stories, and bringing small gifts for
Each other: treats, really, from rest stop, and
Gas station, and back woods fast food joints,
We read Madlibs, after writing them, and bought
A Thin Lizzy cassette and sang along, while we
Crossed the Rockies and dreamed of the Ozarks,
Switchback after switchback, among dangerous
Drops and mean-looking shards of stone and
Spires of rock, and then, when the time is right,
Stop to stretch, and pee, and sometimes (more often
Than never), wander around a tourist attraction
That seems more out of place in real life, than
It would in a daily comic strip from a big city
Newspaper; I loved our time together, I did,
And I wish that trip had never ended, but all
Things end, like us, and we, and other words
That stand for you and me together in a car,
I didn’t think you’d bleed so much that evening,
And when you said your nipples could cut glass,
I thought, whatever, that’s kind of kinky, but
I didn’t expect to spend the night getting brutally
Sodomized in a holding cell, just East of Des Moines.

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