Country roads tell all their secrets past midnight,
In the summer,
When the temperature is just about perfect
And the moon’s so bright it’s confused with the only streetlight
On the block, about a mile up, straight shot.
So straight you could bowl a strike from here,
Which we did that one time.

My pops waited for the bus here,
Right where I used to,
Shoes full of lake effect snow,
Pocket with a warm potato,
Wrapped in aluminum foil.
A country boy.

We’re down past the driveway,
2 am maybe,
Flies unzipped down dungarees
And oh what a piss we had.

Salt stained streaks in the street the next morning
To let my brother know that we both made it home.
Two rivers of piss licking their canyons into the road,

Most summer nights.

Those soft black nights.