I will never listen to
country music
without feeling
your leather seats.
You used to clench
my hand
as we cruised
to the beach
on a warm summer night  in June.
Reds and oranges
swirling over the sky
like melting icecream
flowing out of the bowl.

Your tight plaid shirt
hung to your chest.
your grey sperrys
resting on your feet.
car grease and muggy cologne
permeating through the car.
fingers entwined,
feet on the dash.

who would've thought you'd close
your heart off so quickly.
That last night cut short.
The “it’s not you, its me”
3 page break up text.
Those wide awake nights
when the ceiling became my best friend.
I thought I knew
the person you were;
but I guess people change.
Oh, how I'd go back
to that night,
Tim McGraw on the radio
Michigan lake air
flowing through the windows.
your mini cowboy hat
hanging from the rear view mirror
swinging back and forth.

Oh how I pray
that one day
Tim McGraw will be another artist
singing about a Shotgun Rider.
Not a painful memory
of the good ole days.
toes burning in the sand
Michigan air flowing
through your shaggy blonde hair.
little strands covering
your squinted eyes.