Highway Robbery

the gnarled stick stood at the roadside
tortured by the wind and rains of life
it's calloused skin covered fragile flesh
that outlived indignity and persecution

sun burns the scent from the tar
competing with smells of bush and field
but he attends to nothing but the road
seeking to escape where he was born

a lifetime of hurt covered by his best rags
worn for the occasion of escaping here
he watches each car reject him without stopping
their consideration grazes in the passing scenery

suitcases borrowed from friends idle nearby
they demand a tribute of sweat to hold
his whole life story packaged into brown
everything he owns must be carried to escape

he plans escape to the sea or the city there
away from the lands that farm poverty
the city is big and there are jobs there
and men can be men and not called 'boy'

but time washes uncaring over the stick
ripping furrows and carving stories
that nobody will stop to hear or care about
until the stories are buried in the coffin

he knows nobody escapes the fields intact
suitcases can't carry what was stolen
and is now left behind in the fields
lit with the flash of sun against glass

forgotten dust blows over the road
curling in swathes it adds to the fields
that are cut by roads leading to the sea
such narrow roads. such narrow roads.