Road Song 21

Road Poem Jan '21

Crows along the roadside

Pick at something's last bad decision,

Or was it fate?

I was awake too early.

 

The sun slipped behind my head in Memphis,

No longer needing amber,

I slipped off the glasses

To watch noon-shewn felons pick up litter.

Sleep dragged my eyes towards the firs,

A place to stop and refresh,

I ate like a Mexican,

But drank like a priest in Mississippi.

Sneaky gas pumps,

Locked bathroom doors,

Pointless yelling at clerks,

Alabama always on on the wrong side.

Mother already climbing into the box
Mind all wet and spiky
As an urchin roiling in salt
Poking at our shells and fabric.

I sat around and drank all night,

Until I understood,

It was a bleeding wound,

Though self-inflicted.

Here is the key

Here is the puzzle

Everything that is cast

Did you see that there?

I went down to the seaside
To see bad paintings of the seaside.
Stumbling upon the seaside,
It was no paint-by-number but I made due.

Rain pelted me as I started cutting string

Of events leading to the box.

By Tallahassee the sun.

Reminded me I had yarn yet to spin.

Your waters were indigo, Mobile.

Now your Moon is full.

For all the loops

I am kind of in love.

Mississippi so quiet,

Silver, chill, and shadow

If not for stoplights

I'd have checked my pulse.

Pine Bluff, full of Arkansas smog,
Yet dimming sight made me stop.
It paid off in digits,
I got a hot tub.

Back to the new home.
Back to the strange.
I can stop running,
Begin to set the stars just right.