Roger Singer

Go,

just drive

and let the

warm air

fiddle fast

with my hair

blowing it

wild like the

branches

passing

overhead

while the roll

of the tires

tracks miles

of distance

from where

I started

to an unknown

destination

down the road

just out of

sight from here

but where

I should be

as the drifting

air washes me

beckons me

with blacktop

and lonely diners

telling me

to hurry up

and get

going.