Snapshots of a Modest Life

Here's a poem I wrote...it's not very good, but bear with me.

The Drive

I pull out of the driveway, turn the ever familiar corner.
I’ve made that turn hundreds of times.
It’s different somehow.
I know I won’t be back for a while.
The turn waits for me to come home.
It knows that I’m not there.
That I’ve left and not returned.
It waits.

I turn more corners.
They’ve changed a little since the first time I left.
I take notice.
This light is longer than normal,
I think to myself.
It turns green.
I go.
The toll road welcomes me with a bump.
It stays.

The road is familiar—for a while.
I pass over roads and under.
They are still familiar.
I zone out.
The roads stop being familiar.
I wonder where I am.
The signs tell me.
I don’t understand.
It is foreign.
I feel alone.

The road goes on.
I drive.
Hands caress the wheel.
I have nothing else to do.
A song comes on the radio.
I know it.
My brother used to play it on his guitar.
I wish he was with me now.
He’s not.

I pass a familiar sign.
It says I’ve only an hour to go.
I breathe a sigh.
It’s getting close.
I drive.
The road is friendlier.
I’m not as lonely.
The corners recognize me.

I know them.
They welcome me.
I turn a final corner.
I’ve turned it before.
Many times.
I turn into the driveway.
The ever familiar corner.