I take the wheel
pulling out of Boston 2am
not to give it up
until next welcome center,
by my count 190 miles
and 3 hours to White River Junction,
night gets deeper
as we move north
old Salem, NH (no witches here)
Contoocook (repeating to myself)
New London
Grantham (not quite there)
I keep my head up
shake off the coming sleep,
The Old Man of the Mountain!
O, Cydonia!
He watches at every turn,
Live free or die.

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Tom Pescatore can sometimes be seen wandering along the Walt Whitman bridge or down the sidewalks of Philadelphia_s old Skid Row. He might have left a poem or two behind to mark his trail. He maintains a poetry blog: amagicalmistake.blogspot.com