A Couple On A Sunday Drive Poem by Tony Walton

There are no disagreements as we drive along,
encased safely in the car, a road
split by the center line.
Practiced vowels, consonants and syllables
roll predictably with the hum of tires.Each topic
measured as the roadside poles,
the conversation's selected tone
mirrors the
ca-thump ca-thump ca-thump
of the the paved highway joints.

We stare at the windshield and
think of things that must be said - instead,
the words shift, twist, and turn
in our mouths
like worms, then sit angrily,
before we
brood them out of separate windows in
silence and

continue down the road
somewhere,
the receding light of the sun
searching through glass then
fading
in the rear window,
frame by frame
until the light is
gone.