There should be a word
For the open road
You’ve been tailgating others around
This town where you were born
An impatient game of pac-man
Where you are the hungry ghost
And everything you know of others
You learned from their bumper stickers
While wondering how the activists
And theologians
Would ever even see you behind them
Through the decades of peeling vinyl
Sometimes catchy
Sometimes funny
Sometimes true
But who are they?
And who are you?
And are they alone
In their cars too?
While you were lost in thought
Everyone else on the road
Took the last exits
Before leaving town
Except for you
And the road ahead
Is suddenly yours
And your alone
That…
There should be a word for that
No more drive-throughs
No more eating on the road
Just occasional fruit stands
And roadside markets
And lonely picnic benches
In parks without names
And other travelers
Who need no names
To sit down beside you
And to show you
That you are not alone
