Cold Colorado morning.
The coffee percolates.
Elk are on the move in Evergreen.
They bellow their morning prayers
with breath like frosty incense
while drivers in their cars stare
and gesticulate in their direction.
We are all part of a herd.
We huddle together for warmth & protection.
Down in Denver the traffic isn’t bad yet.
And I’m in the backyard, writing this poem-
thinking about Jack Kerouac
and getting that itch.
Wanting to get out on the road-
just drive and throw my cell phone
out the window into a ditch.
It’s a tempting thought, I’ll give you that:
To just keep on driving
like Neal and Jack.
Just drive until the tank is empty
and my belly full of breakfast:
Eggs over easy, bacon crisp and salty.
A road trip to a state of grace.
Becoming a different person-
just by going to a different place.
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