Because baby, I’m a wanderer

The summer had melted tarmac
and couldn't be bothered with clothes,  
six weeks of heat and empty streets  
sat on the garden wall  
waiting for school to start again  
no more games left to play.  
  
The dog heard it first;  
on colder days he would chase the tyres  
try to get his teeth on something.  
The engine thumped around the corner  
and stopped in front of me  
"Climb on" he said leaning back    
in the shape of an arm chair.  
   
My small hands rested  
on the cool metal  
of the Bonnevilles blue and white tank,  
Dad keeping me safe  
with his James Dean cigarette  
and fly away, teddy-boy fringe.  
I felt like a test pilot,  
face in the wind,  
a smile that drooled adrenaline  
onto a pillow of realized dreams.  
   
We only went around the block  
but that was all it took.

To see this highway,    
And a vision beyond it      
Beside it  .. running along like threads that hold the keep      
Dirt roads that come to the middle and end      
A front door open ,    
And shut a thousand times and holding its secrets still..        
     
In my rear view ,      
And front.      
A haze of dust collected there      
     
My eyes are wide against rest.      
A yellow line will spin out hours ahead of me before they find comfort and closure against a pillow      
     
.And the moon and stars make work of my imagination.      
Residuals and lasting impressions dust my dreams.    
     
Scorched coffee  (pause)    
Sugared bites,      
And the road I travelled ,      
     
Well economies.        
     
Not glimpses into the usual, or typical      
Exactly,...      
but glances towards an American Gothic.      
       
Perhaps even the Abraham of the streets    
     
(Long thoughtful pause and deep pull of a Redbull)    
   
Would I stoop to consider these,    
Remove myself from self titled Shaman of the Netherlands  ...    
and dive deeeep into the Delta.    
   
Musky scent of both decay and renewal,    
Let it be heady.    
Let it fly fast into downed windows through fingertips extended and waving through the wind.    
   
Learn  by feeling and leaving  ...    
experience.    
But no intent on living there.  
 
....  
....  

musically interluded
 
“Will I see you give  
more than I can take?  
Will I only harvest some?  
As the days fly past  
will we lose our grasp  
Or fuse it in the sun?  
 
Did she wake you up  
to tell you that  
It was only a change of plan?  
Dream up, dream up,  
let me fill your cup  
With the promise of a man.”  
 
Yes the stereo.  
And I sing with him  
 
....  
....  
 
I am in country.  
Within the city limits of farther down  
Not much to tell,  
But I am diggin it.

- Eeeeeeee!!!
Anybody there???...

There were many,
too many to know or count...

Took the last train out of there...
Sat across a zombie...

- Bite me, he offered politely...
- No can do, infected teeth enamel,
the zombie replied,
suggesting, instead, a game of bridge...
- I don't gamble anymore...
- I see!... A tortured soul proned to poetry...
I'm all ears... and, opinions...

Long silence ensued
both staring outside...

- Wasteland, he murmured...
- That's my stop, the zombie exclaimed,
stood up,
jumped out the window
and mingled with the barren landscape...

Slept through the rest of the ride...
End of the line...
No welcome in sight...

- Eeeeeeee!!!
Anybody there???...

There were many
too many to count, to know, or care...

Tore up his two way ticket...
Headed for a stroll down Main Street...

I piled the wheelbarrow full to the brim with the bits and bobs I'd manage to save, my eyes filled with black sooty tears, the rain that never had appeared. My right hand swathed in a makeshift bandage. Streaked on the palm with tiger stripes. mottled on the back like leopard skin
At that moment it hit me, a spirit rose: the Phoenix from the egg, it hatched. Born with thunder in its eyes
My station waggon still smouldering, cremated, if it had been a dog, so reliable and faithful. a eulogy in tribute, would have been the requisite compliment.
I looked towards the west to see the sun clouded in a smoky haze . my chimney stack in nakedness, before I had seen the hearth, the end of the column of bricks above the roof line
It stood like me, lone figures that survived.  A  wave on nostalgia like thumbing through old photo's
Lying in the bottom of the wheelbarrow,  the family bible after being hurtled through the lounge window. I had rescued an old carried bag blowing around to wrap and protect it.
. Where I ask is the parable, the parable to help?
Was I the parable the unburnt bush. Gods words I have seen your distress. go now to Egypt,
faith that has been shaken scorched like a bandaged hand.
Just the wheelbarrow would be my station waggon now, I the traveller, touched down and landed in a new country with no return ticket
I winced as I grasped the wheelbarrows handles, and headed on down the ash strewn road. and started humming " Guide me o thou great redeemer"