Tow Truck Song

Two long hours on the side of the road,
waiting for the man who will help me get towed,
the sun is shining through the windowpane,
I guess it’s high time to write a song.

If you were here, you’d be changing my tire,
and you’d be gritting your teeth like a real live wire,
instead I’m here laying down these words yet again,
and the towing man is coming along.

The road is long and the road is hazy,
and the trucks driving by are getting closer than crazy,
their big engines rattle in the back of my brain,
and the afternoon is gathering on.

And hey wait a minute there’s gold in the trees,
and the wide open windows spill a warm little breeze,
the way the clouds are gathering, it reminds me of rain.
They say the tow truck is ambling along.

Supposed to be somewhere, supposed to be there on time,
but now I’m killing hours on this long white line.
If I had to do it over I might do it again –
it’s the way you look at something makes it wrong.

So next time you’re sitting on the side of the road,
do something nice with your mind while you waits to get towed.
If you had to do it over you might do it again –
when you’re feeling right, it can’t be so wrong.


Not the Sounds

These are not the sounds
of nature – the hiss and suck,
electronic machine breath,

metallic death rattle
from a deep accordion vein
winding through the walls

like a shadow – benevolent
giver of air to each white room
where inside they suffer,

forget, call for help,
call for anything – for love,
and waiting, oh the waiting

for good news, for any news,
for sleep, for the answer
to a symphony of beeps

and alarms, and hallway murmur,
and yes there is a window
that no call of bird will breach,

no scent of jasmine blooming
in the night to ease the souls,
no kiss of sun, no breeze

to gently tease the hair
through eyelashes
that want only to close.