Windshield

Glass plate,
window to the road, the future,
caked in red dust and
baked in sunlight,
showing nothing but
blue skies ahead,

I wish it had only been
blue skies ahead.
I’ll never forget that warm summer
afternoon when it was you instead
of the sunrays beaming through
the windshield,
when the air was so hot, we had to
roll down the windows,
except, of course, the windshield remained,
and you didn’t.