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Traveling
By Phibby Venable

My brothers took turns driving
the u-hauls and strumming music
in the back, where we sat on mattress
frames, eating bologna sandwiches
and watching the road through
the narrow gap of door
that lifted upwards with the sound
of a scrub board rack, mother said
lay low, it isn't legal to ride
in the back
When we stopped she would sing jazz,
clear, blue, and say, this is the life
my mother hated rules
but she loved dancing and she took us
everywhere
she would say, let's go, and hungry men
listened and breathed her air
but she was warm and vague, couldn't
stop anywhere, always undecided
where to reside
she would sigh and move quickly and again
we would ride the u-hauls




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Document last modified on: 01/06/2007

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