Kentucky Hills

Kentucky Hills
By: James Dubeau

Blue green hills
Soar above
Thin ribbons of
Concrete and asphalt
Bob to and fro
My grandfather and I
Ride in silence
Wind whistles past
Tires rub against the road
We are awestruck
By this country’s beauty
A brief respite
From the day’s conversations
Which will begin again
As soon as we hit
Road construction