Five miles from the middle of nowhere
I’m steering the arrow straight asphalt street
Linking Coleman to Santa Anna. Far ahead
I spot an ant crawling on the highway shoulder.

The ant grows to a dog.
The dog balloons to a cow,
And the cow morphs to a balding old man
Struggling his ladened bicycle up this hill.

Cool teen faded jean pant legs stuffed in
Trudge-stepping broken down brown boots--
He’s dressed in layered rags--cup and bottle
Dangling from handlebars--black back pack and
Blue bike bound bundle bulge slim total treasures.
He’s not touring America for The Heart Association.

Hearing my approach, he painfully twists to look back.
His angry sun burned snarl is
Chiseled in my memory--forever.
I whiz by. I don’t think I want to be that free.
Nothing Left To Lose
These poems are
tracks marking the
happy meandering path
of ongoing discovery ...