In Which Is Considered Mile Marker 332

The interstate fogged in across the top,
Just me and near one hundred giant trucks,
We slow sometimes to something like a stop;
A wreck up here gets messy and my luck's
Been on a streak of awesome; if it runs
Out here I'm in big trouble. One mistake
However small, begets much bigger ones
As trucks crash into crashes. How I quake
Just driving past a milepost where once burned
So many trucks at such an intense heat
The pavement melted and eight people earned
Their tickets out of this life. Caution's meet
As I traverse the area; I've got
More now to live for than I ever sought!

In Which I Have Had To Keep My Wits About Me On My Way

Night driving is a challenge at its best,

When elements do merge, as Whitman said.

Less horrid than at sunset, when it's west

To which one has to drive into the red

And blue and grey, directly into glare.

But I was driving east; 'twas just delay

And indolence that forced me to beware

Of darkness, eighteen-wheelers, and the play

Of wind and snow and ice across the road.

At least no white-outs threatened, but snow plows

And unskilled winter drivers, these bestowed

An extra need for caution and for vows

To tarry not so long 'midst the delights

Of coffee, chess and wine, on future nights.

Lines Written Upon Seeing Elk Mountain For The First Time In 2009

As house-hunting, then moving, both have kept
Me to a small, small circle in Cheyenne,
It's been more than four months since I have slept
In any other town. I've had a plan
This week to hit the road at long last, and
Partake of my hometown's delights and see
My folks and friends and survey how this land
Has fared through this sere winter. Glory be!
I packed my car and strapped to it Deep Blue,
And loaded up a certain glad collie
And put Jack's tires to pavement, barreled through
A hundred miles of wind, then with jolly
Wild shouts took in a gorgeous, welcome sight,
Snowcapped and lovely in the noon sunlight.