Our friend Peter is never happier than when he is on a road trip. He sent me a poem about that. Here’s his introduction and his poem. Enjoy… (-Kevin)
The highway offers coy refuge,
From Neverland to Baton Rouge,
From New Orleans to Myrtle Beach;
The towns are there, just out of reach.
There are places we have been
We think we’d like like to see again.
But like shadows in the sun,
We are blinded on the run.
Never stopping, on the move,
As if we had a point to prove,
We have only one relation
That determines destination:
It’s the mileage on the map.
The GPS is just a trap
That makes us think we’re marking time,
Just like meter, just like rhyme.
Time is measured but it robs,
Space is just between the knobs
Of the dashboard of the car,
Gas we’ve spent and miles so far.
The map of the United States
Resembles what’s served on the plates
Of truck stops cross the great divide:
Lots of chicken, country fried.
There is someplace left to go,
That’s the solace we must know,
As we pull out on the road
With nothing but a laden load.