Changing Drivers

Their nondescript, late-model car
is pulled off on the windy shoulder,
its doors flung wide, and the driver
gets out, gripping the roof with a hand
and lifting himself just as the woman
gets out on her side, both of them stiff,
both kneading the smalls of their backs,
rolling their heads on their necks,
squinting into the midday sun.

Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.