Back Roads
Byron Hoot

I wish the past was                
like the cars and trucks
I see in my rearview
calculating speed and distance
to catch up.  I look ahead, look
up, they’re gone.
 
Who has not wished for
some things to be utterly
redeemed beyond the lessons learned?
 
Usually it’s on two-lane roads
where passing is marked 
by broken lines, where double
lines say, “Do Not Cross,”
and speed is dictated by road
surface, curves, hills, other traffic
these feelings and thoughts appear.
 
I am coming and going – the one
thing about being on the road
that doesn’t change:  some
place is left, some place
awaiting my arrival.
 
It matters how I drive.
It matters what I learn.
It matters that the past
can’t be redeemed –
just so curious I keep
wishing it could be.