On the Way to Fairbanks

Drinking coffee, some café
in some U.S. town
early morning, sun shining
with a girl who’s been around,
Picked her up a day ago
at a truck stop, crazy dumb
standing there by the pumps
holding out her thumb,

Forty or fifty years ago
to hitch was commonplace
she’s, perhaps, twenty-eight
with a much older face,
Says she’s heading to the coast
no big surprise
I look across the table
at her sad brown eyes,

Every man has a story
driving down the highway
some illusive beauty
perhaps going their way,
Thumb held up in the breeze
caution to the wind
the start of some movie
or, more likely, the end,

Waitress brings our breakfast
her oatmeal and my eggs
I try not to look at her
bare arms and legs,
her shorts and her sandals
her hat and her hair
one snap of her finger
and the cops would be there,

Back on the road
another couple hours
we stop for a break
a rest stop with flowers,
Growing wild and free
like this woman by my side
the one, for some reason
to whom I gave a ride,

Another night on the road
then that coastal town
the one I’m driving to
just north of Puget Sound,
From there I catch a ferry
to travel way up north
the woman asks if she can come
and I say, well … , of course,

We slowly get to know
each other, by and by
she asks me if I love her
I tell her I could try,
When we get to the border
she shows a passport card
customs is suspicious
they look at us quite hard,

We drive through Canada
then cross the line once more
all the way to Fairbanks
to my dry cabin door,
By then we are lovers
perhaps even friends
will this last through winter
I guess that depends,