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I 70 West
Across the miles unhampered by the scene
the majesty of space, the vacant sky,
the interstate that long ago appeared
as yellow brick that led to places where
a girl could have her way, or so it seemed.

Past meadow lark and pheasant set to fly,
Past waving wheat, or blowing, freezing snow,
forever disappeared into nowhere.
I seventy, I'd lose you to the day,
where eighty-five was norm in sixty flat,
in hopes of leaving Toto far behind
on plains once filled with vagrant buffalo.

The scanned horizon, cold, the winter's day,
as empty as the past I'd leave behind,
then Colorado climbs from Kansas dunes
and I, the dreamer, feel the urge again
remembering I never will forget,
I see her face again,

though miles have put it all behind,
then Jimmy Webb reminds me all night long
that this yard goes on forever.
Tomorrow on channel nine, 
or seventeen,
I'll hear Toto again.

© Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

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