Forward

I'm in Champaign,
Illinois
waiting for my career to start.
I drove half the night into December
and woke up with winter crawling in
between me and the back seat

I'm dead set on never looking any age
so today, I run
pressing my face
against the atmosphere
melting its edge

cars,
barely pass me
their tires inhaling snow
as we drag north against the earth
leaving behind
the town
and it's acres of chain stores
the size of factories
and sculpted will.

Ahead
road, earth, sky
are almost the same white exhale

to my right
nothing
and forever of something,
thoughts left in miles of wind, snow
and corn stubble
pointing
to a horizon that cuts into the sky;
a place that none of us could ever get to.

So,
what the hell,
I turn
take three strides away from the road
then stop

(with my feet in broken ice and mud)
realizing how dumb I must look
to everyone whose windshield wipers
can't keep a beat to the radio
as they head to one and two car garages
condos and farm houses,
carports with rubbermaid garbage cans
waiting to be wheeled to the curb

these people plan,
and drive in the direction
of taking care of business

losing childhoods to acceptance
and to the inability to understand,
or even want to;

the dot out there;

in the cold and snow and blinding white
moving towards a corner of the horizon

I'm running again
and I can't stop.
I've got more will
than those buildings behind me

I'm not fast
just running, thinking;
this is for everyone squinting over dashboards
who forgot about the trash
long enough to say,

I've always wanted to do that.

© 2004 J. Scott Franklin