16 Jan

This was written a few years ago. Poetry being subjective, I’ll leave any deeper meaning up to you.



My map is crossed
with thin blue highways
and squiggled yellow highlighter
and fat red interstates.

Do I take the easy ways,
the broad, straight roads
with bright green signs
and regular mile markers
that tick off the time
and make me feel safe?

How can I get lost
with so many things to guide me?

But what if I don’t want to be safe?
What if something tugs me
toward the dust
and the rolling curves
and the green isolation
of the backroads,
toward the towns travelers never see
except when they take the wrong exits

and are lost?

KB, June 2003


Posted by on January 16, 2013 in Journeys, Life, Uncategorized


Tags: , ,

2 responses to “Vagabond

  1. jadesmith09

    January 26, 2013 at 4:44 am

    I always take wrong exits, so I have double reason to like this poem! It’s good.

  2. Keanan

    January 26, 2013 at 5:19 am

    (laughing) Yeah, I know all about those wrong exits. (You just need a navigator every time you hit the road!)


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