The Road Less Traveled

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As a small boy I sat on an airplane next to my mother.

She unselfishly gave me the window seat,

so I could have the best view.

 

Me: “Is that the Statue of Liberty?”

Mom: “Yes.”

 

Me: “Is that the Eiffel Tower?”

Mom: “Yes.”

 

Me: “Is that the Grand Canyon?”

Mom: “Yes.”

 

Me: “Is that the Great Wall of China?”

Mom: “Yes.”

 

Then the pilot began to taxi the airplane

down the runway for takeoff.

 

My Mom always told me I was going places in my life.

That’s probably why I found my bags packed outside

the front door with the locks changed when I turned 18.

 

Since that time I have become a world traveler.

I have gone to the grocery store.

I have gone to the mall.

One time I drove out of town to a small farm in a truck

and picked up a duck.

 

I often write to my mother about my adventures and I always receive back the same motherly advice:

“Return to sender address unknown.”

 

Some might say I have chosen the “road less traveled” in life.

I can’t deny this as I explore what road might take me home

from this farm without a GPS.

My duck, Kerouac, quacks and looks tired,

but we have miles to go before he sleeps.

Not to mention I need to stop by the grocery store

and get him some duck food.

 

As I drive into the infinite darkness with my gas gauge

in the red zone below empty,

I contemplate the finality of our situation

and wonder what little Kerouac has done

to so piss off God.

 

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3 responses to “The Road Less Traveled

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