The road expresses hardness through my feet,
the bones of which it mocks for where they’ve run
along the softer trails, devoid of heat,
the road absorbing nothing but the sun.
I push the road; it pushes fiercely back
in jealousy, I think, for my neglect.
Or else its soul is also hardened, black
and doesn’t give a damn what I expect.
The goals I’ve set bounce off the sun-baked tar
and slowly shuffle lamely on the side.
My preparations only go so far
as someone stops to offer me a ride.
And with a heavy sigh and bones that ache,
I’ve given all, but still the road can take.