Two-Way Street

I wrote this poem many years ago, way before I became a Roadie (see The Endless Highway: My Life as a Roadie). It seems, though, that being a Roadie may have been my destiny.

Two-Way Street


People in my early life mistook me for a messenger,
a carrier, courier, bearer, delivery person.
Cousins saddled me with items for Grandma,
who ladened me with numerous inessentials
to transport elsewhere down the road.

Sisyphus with a twist: no rock, no hill, 
just package after endless package. 
They had cars, they had trucks:
why was I their Mercury?

Moving away, I inserted several states 
between me and them. In my new, 
improved state people do not consider me
a runner. If a package is important,
they know all about United Parcel. 

Today I realize the roads travel 
in two directions, 
askers bound  to house and yard, 
while I — I know streets,
shortcuts, 
destination, 
determination:  
I deliver.

———————————————

Crossing the Skyway is Barbara Gregorich’s first collection of poems. She hopes to put “Two-Way Street” into a second collection.

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