The Bug, AM Radio and a Long Nights Drive or what a Young Man in Love does.

Fog and drizzle great me

as I drive my Bug west on the Pike,

Pilgrim Hat signs

with an arrow stuck through them

pointing the way.

The headlights reflecting off the fog,

as semi’s barrel by kicking up a storm,

the car immersed in a baptism of oily water

my hands gripping the steering wheel tightly.

On the cheap AM radio

I listen the the gravely voice of Wolfman Jack,

playing the latest hits of hippies in Frisco

about half naked young women

dancing in the sunlight with flowers in their hair,

the music fading in and out

on the tinny sounding speaker

crackling and popping with static.

Nightime grows deeper and darker,

roadside reflectors glow

guiding my way forward.

Tiny windshield wipers pulsing furiously

as fog and drizzle grow dense

while I continue west into the dark night.

The radio now my only connection

with the world

as stations fade away

I turn the knob searching

for that one station

where the music is pure soul

as I sing my heart out

looking forward to seeing her face

at the end of the journey.


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