The Hard Way

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Finally alone on the road
in these days of no longer
being lonesome.
Walking toward the oncoming,
like I can’t wait for it
to grow on its own in this race
toward my face I’ll never win.
The dead and dormant
stalks of last year’s roadside
weeds lean toward me,
bent by the slipstream
of these cars and trucks
that push me deeper
into the brush as they pass.
Even they have learned
what I never have.
I always seem to go
against the grain,
the arrows, spears and bullets
of all-weather steel-belted
death pushing against
where I want to go,
or want to be away from.
With a sigh, I turn around
and join the flow of flora
and four-wheeled fauna
on this bit of homeward highway
and wonder, the wind now
a gale in my face, why no matter
which way I turn,
whatever path I’ve chosen
always seems the hard way.

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