Roadtrip, Interstate 65
by Sallie Ehrman
On the cusp of forty, I’m dating a man who starts
his day with a cigarette and coffee. Outside the laundry room,
Motel 6, Louisville, Kentucky, I can hear him laugh out loud
watching Cheers. How many Pete’s Summer Ales
will he drink tonight? It’s hot and he’s been driving all day.
We’ve only been together five months. My daughter,
six years old, calls him Da-Da. He lets her change channels
and buys her orange soda. I don’t stop him. Here comes
my girl wrapped in a thick towel after swimming. We listen
to traffic and washing machines.
With chalk from my backpack I draw a miniature USA.
I tell her where to stand, Louisville. Our city, Bisbee,
Arizona, is where she stretches to, almost falling over.
When I suggest that we walk home or hitch a ride, she giggles.
But I know how drunk he can get.
One of Sallie Ehrman’s favorite activities as a poet is to teach poetry. Currently, she teaches two different 4th grade classes once a month. Her grandson is in one of the classes, which brings her special joy. She also teaches her cut-up poetry method in adult education classes.