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
past
 
old Salem, NH (no witches here)
Manchester
Concord
Contoocook (repeating to myself)
New London
Grantham (not quite there)
 
I keep my head up
shake off the coming sleep,
 
O!
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

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