Backroads Odyssey

"I should drive east."
The impulse struck as a
hunger pang,
"Toward New York."
The desire was overwhelming
to go in the opposite direction
of Ohio.
There were other days
in Ohio.
The desire was for a Mecca.
Drang nach Osten through
the haunted fields of
Pennsylvania to the
worldliness of New York state.
The road was clearly
running south when the sign
said east.
It's the way of roads --
going south to go east.
So much in life is about
going Southeast.
Desperate to go north
and then east,
I see the sign that says
"South."
If there is a south, there
must be an east.
I drive south in search
of the east.
I discover a lake I never
heard of and a junction
appears with a sign
that says "north."
North is good,
toward Lake Erie,
the vineyards of New York.
Passing dilapidated barns
and stuporiphic dairy cattle
I think of grapes when I
happen upon the Allegheny River,
its vastness inching toward
Pittsburgh.
Lots of canoes for rent.
I stop to ask for directions.
"Is New York up this road?"
"It gets you there in an
hour or so."
"OK."
I watch the river
and forget about the grapes.
I should start west really.
So I run north
to go west.
Junction "6 West"
to Meadville appears.
But I don't want Meadville.
I want Lake Erie
so I run west to go
north and I get there
and walk the sandy shore,
a worldly destination
our Riviera
on the 4th of July
free of fireworks
celebrating the freedom
to burn some gas.





Poetry by Peter J. Kautsky
Read 1330 times
Written on 2015-07-23 at 20:53

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
An interesting journey. I thought of Steinbeck too. Roads are like sailing sometimes. You have to tack until you get the right wind. Nice piece.
2015-07-28


countryfog
This is wonderfully conceived Peter, and true. My best trips proceeded more by meandering than methodically following road signs which, as you so aptly point out, don't always mean what they seem to. In the end that innate sense of direction that is still there somewhere in our genes takes over if we let it, and follow it, enjoying the getting there as much as the being there.
2015-07-24


josephus The PoetBay support member heart!
This reads like Stienbeck! I love road trips that begin and end on a whim. This sounds like it was a great one!
2015-07-23