Backroad Bandit


Sometimes I like to drive

Nowhere in particular, just “out and about”

The backroad bandit

Dust flying out behind me

Radio screaming Janice Joplin, BB King, Eric Clapton

I sing shameless and loudly

Like I’m a rockstar

Grinning and tipping my hat to the D.J.



I put a cold drink in the cup holder

Some munchies on the seat

And a flower in my hair, just because I can

I go way out into the jungle

Passed where cell phones and radio reception fizzles out into silence

Basking in my solitude

And just when the hush descends, when the hood ceases to tick and mutter

I slide sweet Etta James into the CD player

And she croons to me



There is nothing I escape from when I leave the city behind

No troubles that hound my trail

It is simply that sometimes, a poet needs this time

To get to know myself

Because I am evolving every day

Becoming more than the woman of yesterday’s sunrise

And it is good to be comfortable in your skin

To be aware of the shifting of your tectonic plates

Before the earthquake shakes your core



It is as Etta says

“The blues is my bidness, and bidness is good…”


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