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Back of the Pickup

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Sitting in the back of Dad’s old pickup
truck with my best friend since diapers.
Going 25. Feels like fifty.
Wind blowing fiercely in my face
and attacking my hair like a
pile of pigs at slop time.
And with each strand of hair that
wanders astray, so goes with it
each thought of worry that
resides in my mind.
My body feels weightless,
My heart full of joy.
Maybe someday I’ll fly away.
We sit there laughing-- no idea why,
Girls will be girls.
At this point, there’s no
need for conversation.
The air tastes so much sweeter
with unspoken words that
express exactly how we feel.
Next to love, they say that not needing words
is the one of the most amazing feelings.
Sitting in the back of Dad’s old pickup
Truck with my best friend since diapers.
Going 25. Feels like fifty,





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