Carolina Mist

[couchgrouch]

Carolina MistHe didn't say he was sorry, as he left for his late shiftas he drove off she damn sure, wasn't sorry that he leftshe just swept up the dishes, while his hound barked outsidehe always howled awhile, when his Master left at nightthen she mixed herself a tall one, and sat out on the deckand out of the foggy evening, came a cowboy's silouhettehe asked her for directions, said his next ride was out westhe'd missed a sign somehow and got turned around in the Carolina misthe saw she kept her bangs too long, they covered up her foreheadand when she offered him a beer, "no" was all he saidthough they stood there a minute, and never said a wordtales of twelve steps and beatings, was what they both heardthey walked down to her mailbox, where his horsetrailer was parkedshe pointed toward Stonewall Highway, said turn at the Quikie-Marthis eyes were tough yet tender, like his black leather vestbut full of history and deep with mystery like the Carolina misthe tipped his hat and thanked her, then climbed up in his ridein the grip of the moment, she got in the other sidewell, they looked at each other, in long stares of lonelinessin that cool and empty midnight, their eyes almost seemed to kissand when he started his Chevy, they heard that old hound barkhe jumped up in the truckbed, then they drove off in the darkcos when we miss the signs, where our path really isfaith helps our hearts see through the dark and Carolina mist(c)2006 Robert George