Hey, let’s buy a mobile home,
a thirty footer at least!
We could steal away, just us two
and do a cross-continental tour,
the Southern Cross—
you riding support
and me pedaling my bike,
crucifixion on the road.
Can’t you just see it?
Santa Monica to the Jersey Shore
via Death Valley and points beyond,
starting New Years and done by Easter,
suffering it out, pain to the core,
piss ‘n’ vinegar in every wound.
Each day you’d be to the right
and I’d be to the left,
you the navigator leading me true,
but this time bringing me home before
I pulled the dark down around me again.
That would be awesome! It really would,
just awesome! I wish we could.
My sister and brother-in-law just bought a big Winnebago. The funny thing about this is that it was an idea in which they had never proposed any interest until one day they had done it, and now they love it. On the other hand, it is an idea that I have always raved about, especially with the idea of combining it with a slow, cross-continental tour by bicycle. It is also a plan about which my poor, long suffering wife has always rolled her eyes, thinking (possibly, perhaps rightly) I’d hate it. Irony…it has to be the most powerful force in the universe!
So I started this poem with a very heavy hand of humor, only to find it squiggling away and becoming, underneath the original tone, something very different indeed. It started with the words, “Southern Cross.”
Thank you for reading I’d be the unrepentant one on the left. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed them and I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain. As always, I look forward to your comments.
© 2013 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. This poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2013 by John Etheridge, https://bookofpain.wordpress.com.