Oil-and-Rock Roads

[I haven't been writing for the prompts at Weekend Wordsmith for a while, but I do look at them nearly every week. This week, the prompt "road" struck a chord.]


Oil-and-Rock Roads

My bike followed the oil-and-rock roads all over town,
smelly and sticky from the new coating,
leaving black spots on the frame,
and on my white socks.

My feet walked black-top main roads,
baked hot and soft in the humid summer heat.

My mom's car thumped along the concrete
of St. Louis Avenue, cracked and patched
from the never-ending freeze/thaw/bake cycle.

My grandad's hands laid the brick underneath
Gallatin Street, hidden below asphalt, except
for an occasional worn spot where the red
peeked through from the past.

My back turned to all those roads,
I sped east to the land of granite curbstones
where no one had heard of
oil-and-rock roads.