Road Trip

 

Telephone poles race!…

by like a picket fence.

The yellow dividing line becomes

invisible…to the naked eye.

I look over at Bob and KenDog.

Mi amigos…

my partners in 

metaphorical crime.

The other lane holds a blur of cars

that seem to be standing…still.

The roar of the wind drowns out 

Elton’s “Saturday Night”.

The city is a fading vision

in the rear view mirror and will not

be seen again for days.

The daily routine does not exist…

work is a thing of the past…

no ties…

just living in sweet freedom!

Destination? 

Does it really matter?

I wrote this poem during my university days and recently rediscovered it while perusing some of my old journals. Reminds me of good times and adventures spent with old friends!

© 2019 Gregory Vessar. All Rights Reserved.