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

traveled before

staring off into the horizon and considering 

that bear that went over the next crest of the hill…

will he ever come back?  

And then I look into my rear-view mirror.