Nov 09 2007
Front Row Seats, a poem
Front Row Seats
Wheels turn,
spaces inside confine
until eyes cast from self
to world outside windshield.
Thoughts contained within
mix with sensory input
from roadside towns:
the occasional car
filled with laughing people,
orange blossoms
and charcoal filling stale air,
the tramp art
displayed from roofless structures,
the tattered shirts
hung on jury rigged clotheslines,
the fifteenth coffee shop
in six miles,
children at crosswalks
backpacks weighing more
than their own bones,
an elderly couple holding hands,
a thirty year old woman
screaming
at her man as their children
cower in the background,
a cross at roadside
with faded plastic flowers,
a young woman walking into an office
her head held high
her eyes taking in
all around her,
a mother and father
counting to three and lifting
their toddler high above ground
his face bringing light into
everything that surrounds him
How can people mistake RVing
for escape when their unguarded
senses take in all that is around them?
I think it may be the opposite,
RVers have both front row seats
with full view windows of life
and time to absorb them.
MeeAugraphie
11/09/07
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