Driving fast down sun-baked country roads

Countless tiny towns are silhouettes in my dust

I dare not stop for fear of the unknown

I have this little suspicion they don’t like my kind

–

The kind different from them

The kind not of their own

It’s not that I blame them, really

It’s not their fault that they’re wrong

–

My destination is clear

No place in particular

Just enjoy the scenic route

Before night claims the scenery

–

There’s a fork in my roads of chance

My front tire takes the brunt of it

I pull over to the soft shoulder

My good luck having failed me

–

Rear view mirror, another driver is nearing

A big red pickup, a good ol’ boy pulls next to me

Sweat beading on my brow now, I’m unsure of his intention

I ease out of the car, though I’m thankful for his attention

–

“You’re not from around here,” he says,

I think he’s a fast learner

I say, “No, I’m from the city,”

Not that it’s a real stunner

–

“Let me give you a hand with that,”

He says, so willing to help me

I say, “I reckon I’d appreciate it”

You just never know how nice some folks can be.

---

Written: May 25, 2001. Revised: December 9, 2009 & March 14, 2015.

Copyright © 2001-2016 by Brandon L. Rucker. All Rights Reserved.

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