On this derelict highway
No more home made pie
John Steinbeck devoted a full chapter of his epic roadtrip, The Grapes of Wrath, to Route 66. Five words of that chapter — three words, really — captured everyone’s imagination. Three words.
“66 is the mother road,” wrote Steinbeck. Poetry. Evocation.
I leave a trail
I follow one
I leave a mark
I seek one
I know my place
Where I am
Where I’ve been
Where I’m going
By the markers
All such admirable
Qualities of stone
Though I prefer
Soft
Supple
Flowing
Fluid
Water will not run uphill
It will not run fast across a plain
It will not run at all
Where no rain falls
But the comfortable path
Is not always the best path
Or the true path
So I try to remember
Keep exploring
I the child
Dig down into the beach
Find the water
Swirl sand into slurry
Lift it out
Dripping from fingertips
Edges unaligned
Contexts out of reference
Colours unbalanced