Old Road...

I feel like an old road,
pockmarked like the moon.
When the moon was new,
I was too.
I'm a dark shadow
from the back of the room.
I have no center lane
or curbs or gutters.
What gets to my shoulders
usually stays there.
I am so old even
the mirages have left.
If you travel with me,
better bring a rope, shovel
and/or an anchor,
Nagasaki and Dresden
were smooth by comparison.
Don't look for a view,
everything is regret and gravel.
Even the rear view mirrors
have turned back in fear.
I'm told the end is up ahead,
but I try to eat well and avoid it.
Determination got me this far
and every day's still a challenge
and/or a laugh.
Every roadsign I see
is missing or full
of rusted bullet holes.
But stay tuned, the radio still works,
but who's listening?
All the good songs
are still in my head.
©Peter Bray, 10/21/09 All rights reserved