Dead On The Road

A thousand false starts
have left me stranded
on the same side
of the same road
for so long
that I can't remember
the turns that brought me here.
I had a map,
but I have always been arrogant,
so it is crumpled on a stretch of
highway behind me,
a long way from where I am now.

I have been spinning my wheels
in the hope that somebody will notice me
idling here and stop
to offer me assistance,
but at full-speed my spinning wheels
can't be seen and anyway
nobody knows to look for them.

People say that you should just keep trying,
keep turning the key until the engine catches,
because alone on a highway there is nothing else to do.
I am trying to believe that,
here on the side of this road
with nobody else around
but the pigeons that land on my hood.

I could call him.
It would be so easy –
but then I would have to confess
that I did not follow his directions,
and I am no good at confessions.
Even though he knows I am lost,
even though he wants me to call,
even though it would be so easy to do,
I am still too arrogant,
and I wonder how he could love me,
knowing this about me.


Where I lack in humility,
my earnestness abounds;
but hunger cannot make up
for all the rest,
wanting is not sufficient
when there is a road to travel
and pride has me stalled.

I sigh, glance toward the payphone,
and go back to turning the key…
it is still easier to be lost.