ADDICTED TO THE ROAD
My goddamn feet just wouldn’t stop.
They couldn’t stop wandering.
I’d go to one place, look around,
Then want to move onto another.
And since nothing was keeping me,
Not a girl or a job or a lease,
It was too easy not to just take off again.
Pack up the bags and hit the road.
Get on a bus or a train,
or hitch hike across a country!
The road was always there,
Stretching out in front of me,
Always an open invitation.
I feared I’d never be able to settle down.
I’d forever be this nomadic scribbler of words,
Tapper of keys, composer of lines.
But how long could I go?
I’d run out of money,
But was living comfortably on credit.
My distaste for debt had diminished,
In the shadow of my distaste for stillness.
I had to be moving.
I was addicted to the road.
I felt most comfortable
Sitting on my pack
On the side of the road
Out in the middle of no where,
Thumb in the air,
Waiting to go somewhere, anywhere.