Key West or Bust

We passed them on southbound I-95,
not far from Jupiter:  a caravan
of weather-worn RVs, the kind you drive
from park to park towards your winter tan.
Wisconsin license plates meant they had driven
for days—back-straining, patience-taxing days.
The hard work of vacationing had given
the drivers’ eyes a highway-haunted glaze
and must have left their necks in knots.  What’s worse,
here in the “Sunshine State” it had been raining,
and we could almost hear the drivers curse;
the engines, too, were probably complaining.
We waved at them, but none waved back; each one
stared straight ahead, in search of mythic sun.

About the author

Jean L. Kreiling prefers traveling by foot, and has been fortunate to stroll along London streets, Italian cliffsides, and countless American beaches. Her poems…

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Issue 12 · June 2011

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