Out on the open road,
a young boy, should’ve been in school,
instead, a passenger,
riding down highways from one trouble spot to the next.

We always left just in time,
before shit hit the fan,
before we made long-lasting friends,
before report cards arrived,
before we got comfortable,
before we called it home,
before we felt ashamed of who we were.

We hit the road at the right time,
fresh air through the windows,
deafening sound wind ripping through the car,
drowning out the local AM radio.

 

It was my chore to scan the radio dial
for stations we could pick up.

Fascinated by the concept of radio,
people off in the distance sending music
through the air.

 

At night, the dashboard and radio’s soft glow
offered little comfort.
No curfews, just slept when you couldn’t stay awake,

praying something scary wouldn’t reach in from the darkness
and grab you.

 

Daytime was no better. No reading, it made you sick.

Back to the AM radio.

Sometimes I wished I was another kid in a passing
car heading off to a normal life.

 

My mom, on the run from the law with two
little boys in the car,
swept away from life back home in Georgia,
now living out of a car always on the move.

Now we’re just white trash on the road,
littering the landscape.