Hit the Road

Hit The Road

Quarters eaten by phone booths,
slot machines, dingy back-woods carnivals.
Strewn about in the passenger seat between-
Receipts for slices of cherry pie, and 15 gallon tanks of gas.

Hands with bitten nails, chipped black polish,
Calloused from gripping the steering wheel;
The reins of an Appaloosa gelding, the sides of old oak bars.
A life-line dissected by secrets.

A back seat rumpled with bohemian dresses,
a faded pair of converse sneakers;
Twice-worn jeans with holes in the knees, pine cones and bits of sage;
A half-smoked pack of Turkish Silvers and a jar of strawberry jam.

Lips bruised by the wind and sun, and the kisses of wayfaring strangers,
Stained by the juices of peaches and cherries, fresh picked and bursting ripe.
Dazed by the humming vibration of a gypsy tune,
And tingling from the touch of cool starlit snow on mountain-tops.

And there's nothing in the way, nothing holding back,
Just open arms and bare feet dancing in the cool grass,
A heart made for shifting gears and tires spinning across the 'great wide open.'
A mind given up to the sun, the moon, the stars and the endless road.