On Country Roads
Sept 21 2008


On country roads,
some are hard-top
some are gravel.
Hydro poles pace your progress,
leaning, bleached by sun.
You can hear the wind
whistling through tightly strung wires,
and the indolent buzz
of insects.

On country roads
you walk
half-on, half-off
the shoulder,
and the cars keep coming for miles
— a cloud of dust,
the sound
getting louder and louder.

On country roads
drivers wave as they pass,
and after awhile
you begin waving back;
a small brief act
you find strangely reassuring.
And then, with the zeal of the newly converted
you start using both hands
and smile and clap
and turn as they pass,
sending them off
like long-lost neighbours.

Even the sour old man
hunched against the door of his battered Chevy half-ton
lifts 4 fingers from the wheel
and nods slightly, once;
forced from his misanthropy for one brief moment,
cajoled by the social norms of country roads
to acknowledge he is not alone
down here on earth.
Before he gasses it
scowling
all the way back to town.