Where The Highway Meets The Road
By John Ogden
Where the highway meets the road, a man stands alone, unsure. He waits on the corner, breathes in the sweet autumn air and knows that the end isn’t all that far away. The horn of a Mack truck blares in the distance, and then he is there, in the truck, the driver, melding with the rubber and the steel. He knows that this moment is the future, that he is the truck, the driver, the trailer, the pounding motor, the squirrel crushed beneath its tracks. He is all and none, everything and nothing, the man who stands but does not run.
In the distance, a cock crows, and with the resolve of a hundred fallen kings, the man puts one foot on the road, takes the eternal first step.
- - -
John Ogden was conceived of a government form and a passing mailbox. He lives somewhere out in the woods of a rural land more akin to the fantasy realms of literature than real life, and his favorite dirt bikes will always be the broken ones.
By John Ogden
Where the highway meets the road, a man stands alone, unsure. He waits on the corner, breathes in the sweet autumn air and knows that the end isn’t all that far away. The horn of a Mack truck blares in the distance, and then he is there, in the truck, the driver, melding with the rubber and the steel. He knows that this moment is the future, that he is the truck, the driver, the trailer, the pounding motor, the squirrel crushed beneath its tracks. He is all and none, everything and nothing, the man who stands but does not run.
In the distance, a cock crows, and with the resolve of a hundred fallen kings, the man puts one foot on the road, takes the eternal first step.
- - -
John Ogden was conceived of a government form and a passing mailbox. He lives somewhere out in the woods of a rural land more akin to the fantasy realms of literature than real life, and his favorite dirt bikes will always be the broken ones.
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John--
A sad story for a Sunday. The hopelessness bleeds through onto the virtual page.
Like it.
Kel