An Ode to US 190

Calculated thrusts of air

Through my mouth and out it

Churn my loins up steep

Hills and past scampering

Hounds cheering me on

In their own tongue

You disappoint me with

Your speckles of smooth comfort

And the constant assault 

Of rugged rough road

Grinding my tires and teeth

Patched and tattered you

Are like a used gas

Station bathroom

My only option where

I must close my senses

And accept the terms