Road Trip

by Gary Percesepe

for resea


First: the sigh.

What? she said.

I want to go for

a three week ride.

Where? she asked.

Yes, I said.

In, I heard her say.

I checked the oil,

the tires, the cash.

She shotgunned in,

I threw my hand

at the gearshift,

the car glided off.

Music played.

We shared a flask

of good bourbon.

Someone was moaning

“Let it be me.”

I got lost in the music

and remembered an old

French film. A man

and woman in bed,

in smoky sunlight, a

couple with something

enormous to lose.

I pulled us south

on the interstate.

Hours passed.

In the dashboard

light I studied her

and thought: just a woman,

perfect woman:

How dead-still

in the car she had an

intensity and drive

you could build a

life around.

Our motor hummed.