Friday, June 19, 2009

Consciousness returns in waves, a brief awakening from the dullness of work, of disease, of food and TV.
On the freeway I watch the harbor swim by, sing along with my burned CD;
roll the windows down,
let my hair spread out around me like a fiery halo.
"What if I didn't stop?" I wonder.
Where would I go?
Where could I go that a million other suburbanites aren't already headed,
in their SUVs, in their Cadillacs; with their kids, their coworkers, their lovers,
seeking rest and relaxation but finding traffic and bills and petty squabbles?
Who would love me when I got there?
Who would miss me back home?
And since when did I consider this rest stop "home"?


Honuboy said...

Rest stops may not be home, but perhaps shelter while on a journey to a place which won't know until we get there.

Andrea said...

Spence, Spence, sorry you caught me on a particularly introspective day. Good insight, that.