my father liked long road trips
that began at 3 A. M.
my dad and mom and sister grace
myself and brother, clem
at that hour, we'd be starving
and for breakfast we would beg
but never saw a slice of ham
or waffles or an egg
because the road was calling dad
he'd make no diner stops
in fact he never slowed at all
unless he saw the cops
his only stops would be for gas
we'd grab a candy bar
and made sure that we used the can
for stops were few and far
and when we piled back in the car
he'd count his little runts
at times he'd left a kid behind
and even mother once
we never saw the snake farms
or the largest ball of twine
our faces in the windows
as we left those sights behind
i fell asleep in utah once
a sleepy little boy
and woke up hours later
in the state of illinois
there wasn't consultation
for directions on a map
my dad, the navigator
never needed all that crap
and motels were never entered
didn't see a comfort inn
we had a roof upon a car
to rent one was a sin
we'd not say, 'are we there yet ?"
we would never let that slip
forget the destination
it was all about the trip
dad never liked the radio
so all of us would sing
and ending our small repertoire
repeating everything
the air was not conditioned
that would bring the mileage down
the wind would gust inside the car
and blow us all around
and though we'd get quite antsy
till we thought we would explode
in retrospect, what magic
on those trips upon the road
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