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.
brandonrucker.com | RuckerWrites | @RuckerWrites
Reblogged this on Rucker | Writer.
I needed this
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I’ve been watching ya Jenn. You’ve been on fire. Glad I could help 🙂 Thanks for reading!