We stopped to sup in a roadside bistro
Miles off the beaten track (or any track at all)
And while I mulled over the choices: hash or meat loaf
You stared out the dirty window and watched the tumbleweed
Rolling by.

Funny, you said, how the wind in the desert is so wild and hot.
So cold at night. So brutal and unforgiving.
And
Where do tumbleweed come from anyway?

So I launched into my man- thing
You know, explaining the mysteries of
Earth Science to you. The wind, the waves,
Erosion and volcanism. The creation of
Weather. The death of forests and the
Inexorable triumph of the desert
If we continued down this suicidal path

And you said:
You didn’t answer me
Where do tumbleweed come from anyway?

I think they’re desert wanderers, you said,
Answering your own question. Purposeless
But free. Not following
Anybody’s plan and going where the wind takes you
When the wind alone decides.

Remember when we were like that, you said next.

Well, actually I didn’t. I’ve been
Accused of not being able to see much past yesterday
And though I can quote chapter and verse about the
Day we met, the in-betweens are something I leave to you
And the old photo albums we stashed in the cellar.

But I lied, as men do when they want the subject to change.
Qualifying it, of course. Hedging my bets, as men do too.
Saying, I remember the outlines of a crazy youth that you,
My love, did so much to tame.

Did I do that, you said, looking dismayed.
Did I squeeze the Wildman out of you?
Were you ever free and easy, without a care in the world?
Oh my god, what did I do to kill that in you?

So for the next forty minutes I had to explain
Feelings I never had. Invent reasons for
My transition into sedentary numbness.
Implore you not to blame yourself
For whatever journey I was on, because
Darling, none of it was ever your fault.

Ah, you women. To say you know
But really don’t. Or harbor doubts
You hide behind the curtains.
To believe what you want
Despite the efforts of manly logic
To bring you to the light.

And so we left it at that
Both brooding silently over cups
Of splendid southwest coffee
Me watching you, you watching the
Tumbleweed rolling by.

Just balls of twigs and sticks
To me, light as cotton;
Slaves to the desert westerlies.
Nothing of substance, really;
Rolling, rolling, rolling on.

Going nowhere, ever.

10/31/2014

Author's Note: A wistful dissertation on the incongruences whenever conversations ensue between Mars and Venus.

Posted on 10/31/2014
Copyright © 2025 Ken Harnisch