Our sleigh was horseless,
paint peeled, rusty runners,
the name all but worn away.
Our ride was harried,
steep upward climbs
gleeful downhill careenings:
a wintery marriage.
A hot passion:
the twang of your guitar,
the flare of your welding torch,
the scratch of pen on paper.
Amber liquid, glass after glass
tender eyes shifting to pain.
For ten years we slipped and slid
the steering broken
the crash echoing among the hills.
Photo taken and shared with us by Willow. Read more poems and stories based on this photo at Magpie Tales.
This is not meant as a video but using the video setting on my camera is the only way I can record my voice reading "Off Course." Maybe someday I'll be more savey.