Sometimes the road can be a bastard

When all you need is a quiet place to pull over

A picnic bench in a sunny spot

Take a break

Eat a sandwich

Pee behind a tree in peaceful solitude


But all you get are shit loads of people

Men in camouflage

Holiday weekend hunters

Mad Maxing it out in their black

Fume spewing monster trucks

Nothing with Providence


All you solar powered meat free

Save the planet tree hugging

Veggie growing hippies

Won’t stand a chance come the day

When, for whatever reason

We have to survive for a living


Those redneck gun toting

white trash hoodlums

Will break down your doors

Steal your carefully preserved stash

And leave you to starve out the nuclear winter

For sure


Endless traffic

I thought this road would be quiet

Seems like all of humanity and their dogs

Are emptying out down each side

Of the Continental Divide

I can’t leave Colorado quick enough


I’ve nothing against your ruddy rocks

You’re just too damn busy

I want my Wyoming back

Or forgotten small towns on Route 66

This is not the place for a solo traveller

I’m just passing through


Everyone has their pre-booked itineraries

And then there’s me in my rental car

On a journey with no real start or finish

Making notes for a story that might never happen

A poem that might never be written

Or perhaps already has.




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