Every muddened pothole laden
with water, slamming tires,
Looks less intense from afar, and even
if slow going, we’re jolting from our seats.
Again, the back road dirt life is heightened,
puddled heavier than those on pavement,
squelching deeper and more insistent on
trapping wheels within.
Soon, enchanted by peepers hopping to verdant pools,
drunk on lilac smells,
cutting fiddleheads by the bagful,
sun whistling down,
we’ll delight in spring.
Until then, grab hard the handle above the window,
be ready to brake,
and keep the tow hitch handy.
Tamsen Turner
Albany
This poem was written for the Verse-Village celebration of April Poetry Month.
