I place hands, thick, dry, worn and calloused
upon the cold, vinyl steering wheel.
Winter’s breath, blue and frozen,
weighs heavily upon this steel frame.
I exhale another vapor trail
which drifts off into some maudlin
memory and “want to be”…and then it’s gone.
The engine protests greatly as I turn the key
and jar it from its frosty nap.
I am tired…
I am tired of being tired.
I sling my computer bag onto the passenger seat
it crunches and bounces upon the springs
and it mechanically sings in a squeaky voice.
it all too feels heavier than it should
brick-like, a mill stone with broken handcuffs
from this fleeing assailant…somewhere out there
I’ve discarded my orange prison jump suit
for some other kind of suit and tie
as an old wire clothes line is bereft
and vacantly missing its belongings.
I am on the run.
Someone put out the A.P.B….
Something inside of me wells up
like some untapped oil reserve desiring
to kiss the blue of sky.
It brims again to the surface, spilling over
flooding the ground with its bucket lists
of “what ifs” and “how comes” and “why nots”…
I sigh in my creased suit, loosen my too-tight tie
and now, seated in this cold shell
I brace myself, fingers numbing and aching
sighing and shaking.
I’m not broken, I’m not weak or dying
I’m just traveling down roads
staring off into the horizon and considering
that bear that went over the next crest of the hill…
will he ever come back?