ON THE ROAD WITH ROXANNE

 

On the road with Roxanne, no master plan

wondering where the hell we’re going

on these dumb-ass Harleys,

and wondering where the fuck we’ve been

ever since we were born,

wasting my life pretending to fly

and wasting her life pretending to care . . .

 

Washing ashore in Altoona, far from the sea,

bottled up like albacore in a tin can, gasping for fresh air

in a little pub that smells like purgatory,

hearing a transcendent train whistle, The Nowhere Special

plowing around the horseshoe curve,

and realizing, with a painful stab of joy, that the only way out

is together . . .