indian head highway

it used to be a two
lane highway with double
yellow lines
striped down the middle
of its long black tongue.
it unraveled north and south
starting at the d.c. line.
the head on collisions
were horrific,
always in the newspapers,
the black and white
photos of cars locked into
one another from high speeds.
the sheeted bodies
lying on the ground.
drinking, careless
teenagers, someone falling asleep.
but the road was straight
and barren as it moved on.
ripe for drag racing
as it reached farther
into southern Maryland,
past the clumps of low rises,
apartment buildings built
in what seemed like days.
clapboard shacks,
some pink, or a dingy shade
of green or blue.
the road sped past
the dairy queen and driving
range, past the drive in theaters
set back in a cove
of trees on graded gravel,
the superchief and abc,
where you desperately
steamed up windows, professing
your love to someone
whose name you've long
forgotten.
it was a long road.
a road you hitch hiked on,
a road where you drove
old cars, new cars, going
nowhere, just wanting
to be seen. it was
the road where you went
to school, where it veered
off towards the river
and fished away summers with friends.
it was the road that held the bars
and package stores
where you had your first drink.
it was a road of work, of love,
of mischief and mystery.
a road of growing up.
a dangerous road.
two lanes that went on
and on forever and still do.