foggéd
this tucumcari’s scary when a fog has snuggled in
it has crept in while i slept to my somnambulist chagrin
and i amend intended liftoff till it’s lifted clear’d and brighten’d
for to drive unto arrival does require i not be frighten’d.
..
Fog has bedeviled my cross-country travel in three different cities in five days. ‘Tis the Season!
Here is where I landed after checking out of the Super 8 in O’Fallon, MO, and driving a couple of fairly stressful hours, more often ROAD WORK than not, featuring a swaying, loaded vehicle carrier/deathtrap fond of slopping over into the next lane. I needed gas, food, and non-driving downtime.
We have here a “Club Wrap” and “Caramel Frappuccino.” I may deserve a scolding, especially for the sugary drink. But I have been mostly good.
I was hoping to arrive in the Phoenix area in time to attend the First Friday Open Mic at Changing Hands Bookstore in Tempe, but that can’t happen safely, not with 19 driving hours to go, so I console myself that I will be there in plenty of time for the Glendale High School multi-year mini-reunion at The Nest North. Odds are high that this will be the last time on Earth that I see many of my fellow Class of 1972 alumni.
Safe travels for us all, Friends.
goodbye, sweet hot phoenix
where a poetry bomb was brought
where a corridor was caffeinated
and a marriage was dissolved
I lived in the Valley of the Sun most of my life. I was able as a child to walk barefoot on asphalt in heat upwards of 110° F. In 1989 I and my then-spouse bought a house near 19th Avenue and Bethany Home Road, and about a year later our daughter was born at Community Hospital, less than a mile away. The marriage lasted 23 years, but was only intermittently happy.
hello, toledo, ohio
where my sweetheart has taken me on as cohabitant
whence we came after traveling in a 2023 kia soul
named celeste
At 11:52 PM the night of July 3rd, 2026 I left my apartment for the last time; the lease expired at midnight. I and my sweetheart spent our last night in Phoenix at the Hampton Inn & Suites. The morning of July 4 we left Phoenix; near sundown we found ourselves in downtown Albuquerque, New Mexico, looking for authentic New Mexican Mexican food. My sweetheart stepped on a sort of grating with small round cutouts, her flipflop caught an edge, and she pitched forward onto her face most of the impact was absorbed by her right knee and her nose near its bridge. We ended up ordering pizza delivery from Pizza 9, a chain based in New Mexico. It was delicious.
Next evening, after driving halfway through the Texas Panhandle, we stopped for the day at Amarillo and had appetizer takeout from the Red Robin across the street from our hotel. The pretzel bites were good but after a day of monotonous scenery of grass, wind farms, baled hay and occasional cows, we were too hypnotized to enjoy it much.
In Yukon, in metropolitan Oklahoma City, we had an unmemorable meal except for fried green beans while watching the U.S. soccer team fall to Belgium. The better team won, thank Goodness. That day we’d had nice cloudscapes and terrain that reminded my sweetheart Donna of her native Tennessee.
In Saint Robert, Missouri, near Lebanon, Donna and I had a DELICIOUS steak dinner at a place called Colton’s. We were a bit put off by the bad taxidermy of the trophy heads, though.
Next day was chaos and mishap. In Saint Louis sudden rain and an abrupt lane change lent themselves to a near collision, sending me into a narrow triangle of asphalt that was neither one lane nor the other, and only quick braking prevented a sideswipe. I did not shake, but was shaken.
Right past the stadium in Indianapolis the AI navigator announced a seventeen-minute slowdown, and gridlock prevailed. Just when it eased some came the news that a five-minute slowdown was imminent. It feels crawly to go from 70+ mph to less than a slow walk.
From then on, despite frequent lane closures and mowing and construction zones, driving was smooth. The “Welcome to Ohio” sign gave us a big boost. The “Highway 225/Toledo” turnoff was positively thrilling; and we rolled up our driveway before it was fully dark.
now we are in a town
that will become my town
as the end of one journey dovetails
into the beginning of another.
gas station catfish
To Lyn Herndon Burmeister
we drove across new mexico
intended to stop at tucumcari
but none of the exit signs said we were there
so we drove past tucumcari
and needing gas pulled in a valero
in the middle of new mexican nowhere
..
the gas station had a convenience store
the convenience store had cornmealed catfish
and we were starving
..
and my beloved tennessee sweetheart
ate the catfish
and found it good
though perhaps shy
of the epic catfish she had had when young
..
granted it is improbable to find catfish of this caliber
at a gas station
but i just moved from phoenix arizona
where many delicious burrito had by me
came from a chevron station on 3rd and indian school
i mean–you never know
the traveling identity
the car is stuffed and yet
there’s more that needs to go
and the traveler needs to leave in mere hours
and so the traveler does not complete
a final sleep in his rented apartment
which must be empty today
..
packed are boxes and boxes of sculpted birds
and acoustic guitar a bass guitar an amp
and a box containing a birth certificate
and other valuable considerations
..
yet to load is this bag of notebooks
within which the traveler codified his soul
stretched his imagination and his skills
..
it must be loaded
even if something dearly desired must be tossed
..
but a lightbulb over his head
becomes a beacon of hope
..
“climate-controlled storage” he whispers
with a slight smile of relief
..
most of his identity will travel
the rest will stay in the valley he loves
for three months
his soul will travel and yet stay
just a little longer
just a little
Soon I will move from Phoenix, Arizona to Toledo, Ohio. I want to have all my wordly possessions reduced to what I can fit into my 2023 Kia Soul, with my sweetheart and future cohabitant Donna in the passenger seat.
The problem: I have dozens of ceramic works, and eight cases of comic books. The comic books alone would take up most of the cargo space in my vehicle. Same with the ceramics.
The strategy: I will donate all but a very few of the comic books to Friends of the Phoenix Public Library. I will pack up the ceramics and take what I can. The rest I will preserve in two dimensions, digitally…and abandon.
An ancient proverb goes something like “In the course of a long lifetime, a wise man must be prepared to abandon his baggage several times.” This is one such time.
alarm! alarm! and out of a bent sleep the traveler jolts
shuffles to the bathroom while the blear clears
takes the set aside pills flosses brushes shaves
peels t-shirt over his head and off into the hamper
pulls baggy underwear to knees and draws knees together for the underwear to fall to the floor
grabs underwear with toes and drops them into the hamper
steps past the bathroom mirror with an “ugh!” and carefully steps over the bathtub edge and pulls the shower curtain closed and positions his head to shield his body from the initially-cold spray and pulls the faucet lever counterclockwise and pulls the switch-to-shower knob up and cold spray hits his head with a bit of over spray on his belly and he gasp-inhales a little
but the water quickly pleasantly warms and he squeezes shampoo onto his hand and smears it onto his head
then ivory-soaps his body with special attention to armpits genitals and feet (careful! use the corner for support! de-soap left foot then press sole-water firmly away before switching feet!!) and rinses and sways and rinses and lifts and rinses
turns shower off pushes knob down (it sticks) pulls curtain aside and carefully reaches for bath towel and flips towel like a jumprope and unmoistens back and sides and then carefully dries one leg foot perched on bathtub edge and then the other
then (carefully!! delicately!!) lowers a foot onto the bath mat with one hand on toilet-tank lid and the other on the wall
breathes a relief-sigh and steps out of the tub and combs hair dresses grabs backpack locks up goes to lobby calls a lyft cab arrives at airport obtains boarding passes at self-service kiosk walks to security checkpoint hands identification and passes to bluesuited agent places belt and pocket contents in gray bin steps into examination chamber forming the “a” of “ymca” is waved forward repockets rebelts finds the gate..
and here we are!
Every city/Has its limits./Not a pity./Mug has rim. It’s/Wonderful to/Sip that java/One stir full, to/Bank the lava.
Pack a bag and/Rent an auto./That main drag and/Time goes blotto./Mileposts fly right/Trough to crown/Grab that sky right/Out of town.
Afterword: I have just finished packing and am off to California, there to see my sweet and kind Cousin Livia, where we will see Neil Diamond in concert!
In 1975 my parents and I went on a trip up the California coast. We saw Solvang and her tulips, San Simeon and it’s castle of wretched excess, and San Francisco, where Anything can and does Go. But we also paid a visit to a small town famous for Artichokes.
Yesterday I arrived in Castroville and spent the night at the Coastal Inn on Merritt Street. And this morning I ate a Castroville Scramble at the Fabolous Giant Artichoke Restaurant. Now I’m “scrambling” to post this, pack up, and head north. Checkout time is in eight minutes!!
This post comes to you from the Greyhound bus station in Flagstaff, Arizona. The index card in the image above includes a quick sketch of my phone being charged, my backpack, the man sleeping on the floor next to the chair the backpack is on, and his walker. It’s not a good sketch but I am beat. Tomorrow is another day.
I am on vacation. Three weeks off. Tomorrow through Sunday I’ll visit my friends Steve and Chris Boyle in Henderson, Nevada. During those days I’ll figure out where to go next, hoping eventually to end up in Richland, Washington state, visiting my friend Tom Byrne.
It is interesting going Greyhound again after more than 30 years. In the past there was a sign by the driver endorsing him (it was always a “him” then) as SAFE●RELIABLE●COURTEOUS. Now there’s a sign saying WATCH YOUR STEP and, judging from the discourtesy our driver handed the passenger behind her, who was arguing that we should take a break in Camp Verde, it is meant figuratively as well as literally. (In the driver’s defense, the passenger was even ruder than she was.)
I like being on the road, but the miles wear harder on me than they did last century. That’s Life!
