By THOM O'DONNELL

Alone on a highway, bags in my hand,
Waiting on the entrance ramp for the one
Kind soul who will stop, I am on the run
From the dreary life at home, finding lands
That stretch as far as my mind imagines.
The highway holds no promises, just hope
For a better place. Alone I will grope
For the truth. With help I'll become legend
In my own time. All I need is a lift
To where I'm going. Where all this highway
Ends, no doubt another begins. Skyways
And byways and tollways have all gone soft.
They no more welcome hitchhiking travel
Than they do the crane, the pit, and gravel.