Because I know where the highway goes

March 11, 2012  (I was 67)

Because I know where the highway goes

   (You said it doesn’t go your way)

I take the off roads the side roads

   the backroads the inroads

   skirting private property

   along the stream through the canyon

   the way the Pony Express would gallop

   where silent films were made

   at the little church in the vale

   up into the woods of Kilkare

   gang of Robin Hood’s still there

   …He now owns a stable of thoroughbreds

      he races in a seasonal tournament…

But I digress

   (I said I know where the highway goes)

   from the route up the trail to the path

   and rocky outcrop from which the single sound

   may be heard or imagined

   like a country club with no members

   like understandings with no miss

   like a muse that has no meant

   Expressed from the expressway

   turned from the turnpike through with the throughway

   avoiding the avenue of whatever whichway

   unfashionable on the boulevard

   to meander among melancholy reflections

   somewhere just off where the highway ends

   must be somewhere near your way