Hero Rider

Long lonely road, Wyoming’s nowhere land,

two directions beyond horizon stretch.

the last small town, behind me now,

daylong walk no turning back.

Somewhere ahead Glenwood Springs.

Colorado is also, too far a trek.

Sun blisters down, no trees to shade,

the asphalt soft, still, I dare not stand.

Prairie barren, dried grass, and weed,

no single bird to evidence life.

Relatively still, no breeze to cool,

no wind to roll the tumbleweeds.

Some hours time past, from behind a sound.

Thumb assuming, hitchhikers stance,

a car drives past through nowhere land.

Sun’s glare ahead, memories conjure,

western movies; nowhere near a hero rider.

Hot, dry, lips chafe, too little water,

to quench imagination’s thirst.

Walking this scorching ribbon of black,

action taken, yet seemingly a futile act.

With road and rock to hot to touch,

not a place to rest, just relax.

Plodding on to boost moral,

avoiding thoughts, impending fate.

A few more hours past, too many gone,

finally, escape, from this nowhere land.

Another car to pass, stops, reverse,

Back to me this hero rider.

Roger W Hancock -- written June 10, 2002

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