The Three-Mile Mark

The gravel was loud in the dark of the lane,

the argument buzzing like flies in my brain.

Four miles of asphalt, four miles of pride,

with a heat in my shoe I couldn't hide.

I sit on the edge of the tub in the white

of the bathroom’s hum and its buzzing light.

The sock is damp, it sticks to the red,

where the skin is a bubble of water and dread.