Blues Therapy
BLUES THERAPY
She’d had a tough day,
her aging mother struggling
two siblings wounded and worried,
a gray day with snowfall, darkness
early and long
The husband knew what she needed
and when she started on dinner, staving
off decisions for yet another hour, he put
on Bonnie Raitt, you know, the kind of
smokey blues singer that helps a long-haul
trucker through the mountains of Pennsylvania,
off the Allegheny Plateau, across Interstate 90,
and up Route 81, the NAFTA run to Montreal
in the hours after midnight, gears grinding hard
on the endless up-grades, wrestling the heavy
load on the downhill curves and through the
lake-effect squalls, the tires, and the groaning,
and the roaring of the diesel playing dark back-up
music to the righteous redhead with the big
silver streak who carried his wife through
the sad, and the bad, and the good sure
to come
Smokey blues therapy on a February night
The Hunger Moon hopeful!
Winter wearing them down!
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