Saturday, July 6, 2013

Range Roadies



We are the Range Roadies
We roll the township lines
We rule the rural grid
We pee in range road ditches.
We are the Range Roadies, and we eat gravel for breakfast.






We are the Range Roadies
We salute our brethren llamas
We moo at select cows
We spin to the chorus of frogs
We laugh at dogs who think they can catch us.




We are the Range Roadies
We measure distance in barns, mailboxes, and power lines
We identify crops with our eyes closed
                green barley, yellow canola, purple flax
We harvest road treasure
                little Buddhas, crescent wrenches, diamond rings.




We are the Range Roadies
We stop for gas station coffee
for pie, for tiny churches, for crappy mini-golf, for plaques, even cairns
We stop to peruse finery
We stop to smell wild roses
We stop to pee beside community halls.







We are the Range Roadies
We curse developers
We cheer at the sight of a grader
We smile at startled farmers
We outnumber cars.

We are the Range Roadies, and we take the middle of the road.


2 comments:

  1. Hey, jasper. I love this poem. Is it a play on something else or did you pen it on your own? It feels familiar.

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  2. Thanks, Vic. No, I didn't have any particular work in mind. I was just inspired by the scenery and fellowship of many rides along these range roads.

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