Off to Middlesboro for the holidays
In the middle of nowhere
A road trip intrepid
I'm going back to old Kentucky
They know I'm visiting
I fear they are expecting
Someone else
The plains salute my pain
A flat tire makes me lonesome
Saving my last Nicorette for the
Six hundred miles or so before
I get there - home?
Who knows what ghosts await me
Not even God visits Middlesboro these days
The weather is nice, though,
But this journey is marked by disgrace
The ugly face of truth is wrinkled
Paths not taken have become interstate highways
Returns are not as epic as they used to be
Who would ever welcome the ungrateful? Missed exit.
Navigation screen goes blank
I regret not bringing a real map
A piece of paper with charted itinerary
Stretching over real distance, the one that hurts
Middlesboro I'm heading your lost, fateful way
I can hear them dogs barking
Wind is chilling and there is no moon
I must be getting there
seth ambrosio (Knoxville, TN, 1983)
