Road Trip
Oct 5 2008


Take the side roads, they said.
. . . What’s the rush?
See the place.

But what I remember most
is cruise-control
on deserted Interstates,
middle of the night —
the ghostly green of dashboard lights,
and the plush hum
of asphalt.
I have no sensation of motion, here.
It’s the darkness that goes moving past;
while I sit
in my capsule of steel and glass,
the world unfolding around me.

A soothing drawl keeps me company,
every baseball cliché as comforting
as a seeing-eye single,
or hitting a rope
and touching ‘em all.
There’s the diamond glowing green
and the crack of bat on ball
and the umpire’s emphatic call,
punching him out, strike 3.
And this perfect game
of anticipation and tension,
and its sudden exquisite release.

The game goes on,
no clock, no pressure.
And I, too, could go on like this
forever —
no crack of dawn
with its cold flat light;
no over-pass
with brightly buzzing signs,
and fast-food stands
all alike.

I’m driving on empty
just west of nowhere
in the heart of a vast dark continent;
picturing hot dogs and beer
and the home-town crowd
on their feet
cheering.