Fly

Let’s fill a flask you and I
and take to the back roads I drove
when I was sixteen and always late,
when the ditches were improbable,
when the ditches were a siren call,
clouds of dust rolled from my wheels,
neighbors watched from farmhouse windows
my reckless speed, my sober restraint.
You’ll put your hand on my knee,
and I’ll have worn a skirt just in case
I press down hard on the pedal
and once again let myself fly.

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