Aftertaste

I cried the whole way home
past the broken glass on the highway
where dreams became instinct
past the house at road’s end
where innocence was laid to rest
past phantoms of adolescent bodies
clawing at skin for connection
past parking lots and flickering lights
secrets rolling by like tumbleweeds

I’m alone with the red glow;
the only witness to my tears
I wipe them away,
breathe,
and wait for the green light

Photo by Jane Palash on Unsplash