Bliss

There is room here for two
and more between them
they are in the car surrounded
by their own memories
he looks out the window into the
narrow dark ditches lined with weeds and
thinks about the chain gangs
that cut them and the snakes
that call them home.
He looks through the waning light for
bigfoot and sees only dull ziploc bags
and styrofoam in the saplings
She is driving, teeth grinding not wanting
to look at this man who she
no longer knows, this millstone
with back hair and a paunch
she prays for a blown tire
or an act of nature
to end this trip she is on
not caring which trip
as long as he is not there.
He looks at her and wishes for
the same thing.