Five hours hitching outside Newark Airport
20 degrees, freezing fingers, ears, and toes,
no one stops or even slows down,
much less looks your way; must avoid eye contact.

Eventually, hike into the airport, warm up enough
to pull out your guitar, jam in waiting area,
guitar case open, accepting donations, spare change,
eventually have enough … train ticket to Philly.

Caught ride North to Penn Pike … still icy cold.
After some empty stares, picked up by stoned
entrepreneur heading West; getting closer to home
after many bowls of red Lebanese hash.

Dreamy ride, with Hendrix, Cream, and talk, in a blue haze…
hurtling through interstellar voids, but for the moonlit
snowscapes, contrasting our smokey, warm vessel …
homeward bound, wisps rising from a small bowl.

–LE