I have roads in my pockets. Curves
and straightaways own a piece of
my steps, as I never look back over a
thunderstorm wet shoulder; hats have a
way of getting in my way.
I’ll find a coat for winter and shorts
for summer. I found a pair of sneakers
in Phoenix and some gloves in Omaha;
stuff finds me, keeping the skin fair and true.
Everyone’s looking out for tomorrow.
I walk until exhaustion brings me a blanket.
Roadside rest stops know me.
Roger Singer 