His attachment was

Without a fault

All that was there

In the early nights frost

Was he and his lights

Glaring down the highway

Looking for an off-ramp

And Waffle house, lost

To review his mail

Of earlier that day

In each hand

Clutched to the steering wheel, with play

Were two different envelopes

Sent from well-meaning, oh attorneys not yet in jail

One from one, another from another

Splattered with hash browns

Laden with butter

And in each fold were times left behind,

And to behold!

A divorce decree, saying sayonara my old friend

It was great till the end lay to his left

Intruding on the coffee’s reign  

And yet to the right, his future flight

A Prenup spewed this is your future you dammed old fool

And sign both he did

And then scratched his salt and peppered chin

And laughed out loud alerting the late night crowd

That a death and a birth each showed up early that day

At the end of a darkened off ramp

And tires stuck in the Georgia clay

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