Riding Shotgun

The wind felt
warm and free
not caring that color
drained from the flowers
in the ditch
faded like the tears
that placed them
now silent
the hammering
of wood
into unforgiving
dirt
it leans
as I pass
this cross
on the highway
not in control
I was free
to chomp
the last chip
but snatched
by jealousy
a plastic shroud
was hung up
with care
by the wind
so warm
and free