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We Who Wander 


We've been on the road a long time now, Dolly and I.
Dolly has lost all her drive,
dark circles under her eyes.

My clutch is going.
I cannot engage.
I spin to high revolutions,
speak too fast, too much,
too brightly and vacantly smiling;
explaining to pastors and social workers,
glib for those who'll listen.
I am tired of complaining,
tired of the telling.
I edit, I polish, I lie, I guess
what they need me to say, through a haze of hunger
Dazed by the requirements of so many states,
I work the shifts
quick change the gears
judge the judging of us... lazy.....crazy.... so many tears for
white bread and canned food begged from back rooms.

This road's like a river
long and winding.
We are carried like flotsam,
dumped in a dark eddy; an undercurrent separates.
The main stream rushes on, white lines and hot air.

I am tempted to say it's like a river
but rivers do not flow uphill like this
and there's nowhere to wash.


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Tamara Jenkinson

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