We drank imaginary coffee while we drove
The scrabbled roads of the Appalachian Mountains.
As we climbed, the night stars fell from the pitch
Hitting our heads.
The rocky ceiling grabbed us and held on.
The sweetness of nothing blew through the truck’s air vents.
Who were we to say otherwise?
Imaginary maps helped us find the dead end roads
And the switchbacks.
We sang songs that hadn’t been written.
We got bored.
Here is what we decided.
The best pizza is DiCarlo’s in Steubenville
The best ribs are at DeeJay’s in Weirton
The best Class A football team in the state is the Madonna Blue Dons
(at least when my brother played)
The best bar is Pat’s Place
(when it was still there)
The best tin mill is Weirton Steel
(when it was up and running)
The best place to buy underage beer is Carmen’s Meat Market
The best raisin cookies and chocolate cake live in the Steubenville Bakery
The best father is a pile of ash in a metal toy soldier box
The best funeral home is Greco-Hertnick
The best family is the one that isn’t there
The best home is the one you can leave
The best town is my town
The best me isn’t anymore.
It was easier coming down
The other side of the mountain.
We picked up speed,
Stars jumped back up in the air,
The radio stations came back on.
