I was travelling then
& it seemed as if
every college girl
was on the road
that summer as well
& first my Australian accent
would attract their interest
& then maybe the length
of my hair or the guitar
I always carried on board the bus
& stashed in the overhead rack
or it could have been
the fact that I didn’t do any drugs
or even drink
though they did & they’d smoke pot
in a motel room while I watched
and inhaled anyhow
& I’d kiss them a lot
more than they were used to
& I’d quote poetry
though only Swinburne
whose lines I’d made a point of remembering
& we’d eat in the motel cafe
& we’d buy the local newspaper
& laugh at how insular the articles were
as if the world began and ended
at the big shoe factory
we passed on the way in
& we’d talk politics like two ingenues
who didn’t understand a word of it
& we’d walk to the local park
& be the only ones
sitting on the benches
& holding hands like we were lovers
since school days
though we’d only just met the night before
in the bar with that big woman singing
all those Patsy Cline songs
& I tried like hell not to think
of what would happen when
itineraries finally got in the way
of relationships & we’d have to part
& many a bus station was watered
with my tears when I discovered
saying goodbye wasn’t as easy
as it looked even though I knew
there’d be the next one & the next one
& the next saying okay you’re next for me