Road Clock

Tic-tocking wipers

sweeping sheets of rain

count miles and hours:

this foggy journey

my stifled yawns.

In New York City, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art -- probably my most favorite museum in the U.S. -- and saw the retrospective exhibition of photographs from Robert Frank's seminal book, The Americans. I'll write more about the exhibition later, but it sort of goes with this poem because Frank's photographs were taken during a number of road trips, and the introduction to the original edition was by his friend Jack Kerouac, who he'd met at a party. Our trip down to Philadelphia and back wasn't epic, by any means, but on our return, as we drove through teeming rain and fog listening to the hypnotic beat of the wipers and keeping each other awake through conversation, we did talk about our long-held desire to take a long road trip together, photographing and writing about America. Maybe we're getting to a point in our lives where that might be possible.

Comments

[Dave]

I love the idea of the two of you hitting the road together. First stop: central Pennsylvania!

[Bill]

Awesome pic. It's just makes me fly. Just gorgeous. The highlights and the melt on that "wave" lapping the "shore". So potent with the poem. The colors so startling, distinct and beautiful, pink-red shifting to violet. Truly beautiful. Beth, you take pictures that make me yearn. Your colors have been moving. I love your poem describing cozy and warm, the image showing sodden galaxies.

[Bill]

Great title too.

[dale]

:-) Jon & Beth on the road. It does ring, doesn't it?