Journey
Population: 212
There was an end to roads once
Till one day, in some frontier town
They came together, and I swear I lived in that town
A place whose stoplight was a monument
And landmark, Beacon-Lighthouse a lure for the local marauders
To make steadings at our Hotel
Next to our dinner, where a waitress would count the cars
And her boy lay-out starry in a booth would identify them by their roar
Mythic beasts each, there the long growl and diesel stink
Of a Ford, uncle hank an uncle by township blood
Uncle hank that drank with Jesse, the town drunk,
At the other bar the otherside of town, ‘cross the post office
A place whose shade was gentle, a loft of trees, whose streets
Sung a soft breeze and clatter of wind chimes, a village of American flags
Who never could tell the difference between jargon and rhyme
Wayward towns, sure, to get there you go round the bend the other side of here
Take a left on Highway 22 and head due south till you run into her or pass her
Whatever suits your eyes, there where the roads met up, and decided to be long forever.
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