All Men Are Roads

You remember it as dream
Sleep drunk hallucination
When actually, it happened.
Walking home with your
Shoes off, dead centre
Of the street, pavement
held the daytime
heat, and it felt like warm
Skin beneath your feet.
The road rolled out before you in a line
And when it reared up towards you
You weren’t surprised.
“What are you doing
Walking on my spine?” asked the road.
“What are you doing
Being a road?” you wanted to know.
Because the road was a man
A gigantic man with flat arms
And flat legs laid out
In every direction.
“You think you know
Things but you don’t.
Every man is a road.”
“And every road
Is a man?” you asked.
“Or a woman,” said the
Road.  “I am many roads
And I am both.”
“Ok,” you said.  “Good
To know.”  You tried
To keep walking but the road
Turned to waves before you.
There were sharks
And a dolphin diving
Across a concrete sunset.
“I can show you things
You’ve never known,”
Said the road.  “I can show you
A horse with no legs sitting
In a terrarium made
From an apple core.”
“Is that a metaphor?” you asked.
“Am I not literally a road?”
“Yes, but you’re also a man,” you said.
“All roads are men.”
“Or women,” you corrected.
“Exactly,” said the road.
And then you walked home

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