I'm a steady rolling man
a wandering recluse
My resolve is tough as hardened steel
and my stools are soft and loose
All I seek is gasoline
and the open road ahead
Canned sardines and crackers
and a place to rest my head
When the ice melts in the cooler
and the sun sets, so sublime
I'll sit right here, drinking lukewarm beer
At campsite eighty-nine
By day I roam the highway
through the wind and rain and bugs
By night I sleep 'neath nylon sheets
and pee in plastic jugs
Life on the road suits you. Perhaps in a past life you were a grifter, er drifter. Either that or hard working snake oil salesman. I get the pee jugs thing. You're saving them up and selling them to folks on parole. A Traveling Pee Salesman if you will.
ReplyDeleteIf you don't mind, I'm posting a copy of your poem on my garage door, next to an old faded Sacramento Bee clipping of a pic of Gorbachev on a billboard behind a Ural motorcycle..as inspiration...to myself and anyone else that wanders in.
ReplyDeleteFeel free Larry. Someday I'd like to kill a fifth of vodka with Gorbi.
ReplyDeleteBloody brilliant mate, eight inches of firm, unbroken stool daily, that's my goal in life . . . reminds of the lines not to say when in a gay bar.
ReplyDelete