The Hitchhiker

Poetry: The hitchhiker remembers better days

The Hitchhiker

Standing alone aside the road,
arm stretched and thumb pointing to the sun,
you beg a ride.

Hopes of a relaxing and quiet rest,
free from small talk about sports or politics,
is what you long for.

Meanwhile: cacti are growing before your eyes
and your feet are burning irons
branding the pavement.

It used to be easier in the 60s.
Hitchhiking was more than transportation,
it was an experience.

On the Interstate
lonely and bored drivers sought out the hippie;
you could get a ride.

Forty years later
the hitchhiker is no longer the road guru,
few remember.

That was the past, forget it.
The good old hitchin’ days are gone, and so is
your hope of a quiet front seat.

The reality?
A long-haul driver will stop at your feet--
itching for miles of conversation

Ken Reetz
2004