GRAVEL LANE
You turn off the main road
head east over the little rise
and down the long slope
to the buildings
Crushed rock, crushed again
talking back to your tires
as eloquent as Demosthenes
spitting pebbles at the sea
On ranch-house porch
half a mile away
sight blocked by
trees and hedge
she knows which truck
who’s driving and
what kind of day
you’re having