Food of Love

Horrid seats, bad flight,
Bumpy ride in jeep.
You make me walk miles,
And want me to sing
For old times sake.

When people gather,
And mountains listen,
You get into a fight,
Shut up, shut up,
You chant. I do.

Miles of silence
Stretch between us.
The valleys watch,
You kick wildflowers
And gravel my way.

Small hotel, friendly staff.
Their singsong voices grating.
Too tired to eat.
Too tired to fight.
Too tired to sleep.

Bad food, cheap vodka,
Even worse music.
Headaches from sweet smoke,
Your holier than thou mood
Make me sing campy songs.

Hours stretch into days,
The tape plays tunelessly
Love songs of the mountain.
I’ll hold your hand, at least
We hate the same things.

Ride back home is relief,
They are singing in the train.
"My wife sings too," you say,
"She sings all the time!"
I join in, just to spite you.

Home at last, it’s quiet here.
Even the potted pansies
Look like they’re resting.
I smile sleepily, you’re singing
Plugged into the ipod.