Going South

 

Going South

She asks, “You going south?”
“Only ten miles.”
“I’ll take it.”

Her face undamaged, suburban.
Blue eyes with spark but older, not a teen.
Her duffle and backpack look brand new.

Before starting the motor I say,
“Seatbelt, please.”
“Oh.” An indulgent smile, dimpled. Click.
In this truck I ferried kids to school every day.
By golly you strap in or I won’t start
because I’m an old fart with rules.

A ratty nylon jacket, blue jeans torn at the knee.
“Where’d you start from?” I ask.
“Montana.”
She’s freshly scrubbed, no road dirt.
“What part of Montana?” I ask.
“My last home was Hawaii.”

From islands to Montana to  
California seems a bent path.
“You running away?” I ask.
“Sort of.”
“Where you going?”
“Santa Cruz. Or maybe San Luis.”

I tell her how I used to hitch all over the USA
until I gave up bad habits. I ask
“What’s the best ride you ever got?”
“I dunno” She fidgets. “I’ve had lots.”
She’s lying, I realize. But why?
Her and her spotless backpack. A paperback
peeking from a pocket, Gary Snyder.

“You don’t know how bad it can go
on the road,” I say.
“Yes I do,” she says.
“I don’t believe you.”
She says nothing.

Ten miles south at San Gregorio Beach I stop.
As she climbs out, bending forward,
her pants fall half way exposing a pink butt,
no panties. “Oops, loose jeans,” she says,
hitching them up. She peers back at me.
My move.

Oh God. To be young and frisky-risky.
“Good luck,” I say.
She frowns, lifts the duffle,
the unscuffed backpack.
“I hope you get there safely.”
I mean it with all my heart.

…..

First published in Verse-Virtual. Thank you James Lewis, editor.