never posted this one but i wrote this last semester. Highway

 I was consumed by the white lines of the I-91
When we drove north through mountainous slush.
The clouds were the same silver as the asphalt
I could smell gasoline leaking out of the tank. 

The birches were barren when we traveled so far that day.
While I was driving, she was tracing the veins
Of her hand. They looked like splintering branches.
The birch's limbs were weighed down by snow. 

I told her about the time I skidded on a patch of ice
And crashed into a snowbank just beyond the breakdown lane.
She said the intersection between the road and the trees that frame it
Was a valley that she’d like to park her car in one day.

We saw three moose crossing signs on our drive.
I'd never seen a moose. She told me they’re larger than I’d expect. 

There was a middle school behind the highway barrier. 
It was mid-afternoon when we passed it,
Kids were lining up in a single file to leave. 
One by one, the children crossed the road to get home.

A police cruiser was planted in the median
Holding out a radar gun, prepared to open fire. 
His sedan had tinted windows.
She told me it was for the children’s safety.

We soon pulled over in a snow-dusted parking lot
To refill the wiper fluid and stretch our legs.
She pointed out that the car next to us had no driver,
Just a teenager asleep in the passenger seat. 

In the woods behind us, she saw a moose.
It was bigger than I could have ever imagined.