Everglade Road, enough of a road,
enough for two cars to nearly pass,
enough to not shake anything loose.
Thirty-five miles from the Ohio River,
not some humid wilderness
of airboats dodging crocs and gators,
but I can almost smell it.
On the way to Sam's
she peers up a gravel drive,
past the corn to the house on the farm,
confused about the big black horse
askew against a clothesline pole,
stiff & toppled in the wind.
Oh, look at that poor horse!
Mother, he's only fiberglass,
standing in synthetic stead
for the quick one
they can't afford to keep.
An errant flock of pure white doves,
no doubt released from a wedding feast
at the banquet hall on up the road,
without a home to instinct to,
deserted & left to fend for themselves,
much like me when I meet the future,
the stop at the end of Everglade,
blinded by the Lincoln Way,
here six lanes screaming wide.
Do I bide my time & try to turn left,
or take the easy way out & just go right,
turning around the first chance I get.
Michael Albright, a member of Pittsburgh Poetry Exchange and Squirrel Hill Poets, has published poems in various journals, including Loyalhanna Review, Uppagus and U.S. 1 Worksheets. He lives in Greensburg. Everglade Road intersects the Lincoln Highway, U.S. Route 30, in Hempfield Township. The Lincoln Highway, dedicated 100 years ago next Thursday, was the first transcontinental highway in the United States that was paved for cars.