Motor Home News and Blues

An abode you can drive down a road is a trip, but the learning curve’s steep. It’s a help to be rich, strong, and good with your hands (for things often go wrong that you will not expect). All support’s a trip too: fun can stop for repairs - your transmission goes out at some watering hole where you’re barely a guest. A rebuilt one located takes days to arrive. You’re hung out on a limb with relationships cash- based, though credit cards help. With a vaporware smile and some luck, a motel has a room you can wait. At some point, you’ll be glad a towed car’s on your plate for just parking a motor home can take a while. Overnights on the streets of a city are rash, but a grocery store parking lot helps one survive for a night in a pinch. Cops uncalled, let you rest. If you buy some supplies, it will give you more clout. I am happy I bought mine though big trips were few. A gas engine, no slide-outs, I stole for a song in year slide-outs and diesel were salesmen’s fresh pitch. But low tag fees, no property tax floats my ship! Farms have Quonsets to soften Dakota through time, hide from hail, sun, and blizzards, a part of the year. Coach revives, as my residence, when I am there with the usual hookups, propane, and TV. But one April, the snow where it parks saw a drift that eclipsed a man’s height more than corn grows (rains bless). Weeks would pass till it melted, ground firmed, spring wheat drilled! But the highways kept clear, a spot found I could park where Missouri’s clear waters reflected cloud’s path, and fish leaped as they struck hard and tasted hook’s bait. I’m a poet who frequents cast lines till they rhyme and replace my lost bait with a new thought as dear. Souls and poems will bloom that we offer our care though we see droughts occur and earth’s water’s not chi. May some readers drift with me when words are a gift, have a color they own that eclipses their dress. Bait rejected? God bless! If you chow down, I’m thrilled. Who would want to burn rubber alone in the dark? With a transparent purpose, I don’t fear God’s wrath. Pray rhymed sojourns bring respite, share love, and not hate. Brian Johnston 12th of September in 2021 Poet’s Note: A new metered poem that uses what I call ‘distant rhyme.’