The Smell of Fresh Memories

After a week-long visit to Minnesota,
driving home,
by the time we cross into Iowa
I’m scribbling poems of our trip onto a tablet on the steering wheel
eye to page to road to page,
can of Coke between my legs,
sunflower seeds in mouth,
windows down, smell of skunk, silage,
rock n roll on stereo,
sunglasses and baseball cap,
girlfriend at my side, also pen in hand,
we write, flooded with experiences,

and when she stops writing
she gazes out the window,
rolls in her fingers a gift from our poetry reading,

a carnation
along her sun-lit thigh