Yes, the road.

Yes, the road.
Eagle Nest, New Mexico. “People like to drive because driving is actually and symbolically an almost perfect mechanism for escape…there is probably no human being who does not have troubles, real or imagined, from which he at times feels the need to flee.” George R. Stewart.


My photo
Brooklin, Maine, United States
We own a 1975 GMC Sierra Grande 15 in Maine and a 1986 Chevrolet Custom Deluxe 10 in West Texas. Also a pair of 1997 Volvo 850 wagons. Average age in the fleet is 28 years--we're recycling. I've published 3 novels: THE LAW OF DREAMS (2006), THE O'BRIENS (2012), and CARRY ME (2016). Also 2 short story collections: NIGHT DRIVING(1987) and TRAVELLING LIGHT (2013). More of my literary life is at I was a Fellow at the Netherlands Institute for Advanced Study for 2012-13. I'm an adjunct professor at Colorado College and in the MFA program at Queens University of Charlotte. In 2015-16 I was a Fellow at Harvard University's Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study. The Autoliterate office is in Car Talk Plaza in Harvard Square, 2 floors above Dewey Cheatem & Howe. SUBSCRIBE TO THE AUTOLITERATE DAILY EMAIL by hitting the button to the right.

Saturday, June 30, 2012


                                   Mine was red of a kind
                                    burnt orange by the sun,
each day paler
                                    than the day before.
                                    No one’s turned over
on demand.
There was no reason,
no predicting. May afternoons,

left at the Wash N’ Fold,
past Cow Shit Corner, 
where the manure was warmed,
mixed by late-morning, 
with the ocean air. Or right,
down Maine Street,
past the fishermen who were drunk
by noon, refusing

to shift from second to third
for fear of losing the familiar
hold-back rumble between
acceleration and exhale,
past the girls at Frosty’s,
across the bridge by the mill,
not yet 4, the time when the factories let out,
when the weekend began

in earnest, and everything
worth waiting for was just ahead,
around the bend,
within cruising range,
the alluring paleness
of the sky so white
you could almost feel
the night, moonrise
over the growing fields

and farms with their junk
yards of discarded dream
vehicles in barns and culverts,
behind the house graduate
shadows removing color
from the impossible finish.
                                            --Bruce Willard

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