Road trips are an expedited way To get to know someone. These are the adventures Where friendships are formed over greasy gas station grub, and that Sahara dry breakfast bagel I otherwise wouldn’t eat. Plus a cup of the latest sugary concoction, crafted by an underpaid barista. Maybe had we taken a road trip to Atlanta I would’ve known much sooner how controlling you can be My puppet master, my ventriloquist If only I knew how far your hand was up my back If only I knew you pulled the strings. I was your unhinged bullet train, Ready to derail into a fiery explosion. And as the fruit known as romance spoiled I rose up from the ashes like a phoenix Taking flight, far away from your destination I was only 20, I needed to spread my wings and fly Perhaps this is why we never took a road trip
Chris L. Butler is an Afro-Dutch poet, essayist, and historian from Philadelphia. His work has been featured in Trampset Magazine, Lucky Jefferson, Versification, The Bayou Review, Medium, and NewPages.