Hitching. Poem by Rebecca Navarre

Every now and then, a cool breeze
in the spring. Gets me remembering.
Times of hitching. Think about that
man, named Smokey Joe. He became a
good friend to know. But, started
off as foes. When from under the
dash, he did pull and show, a gun.
Our lesson had begun. Luckily he was
a family man, who had a son. He was
making sure we wouldn't take, his
money and run. But, When sticking
out a thumb. You never know into,
what surprise, you'll come. First
encounter, thought death, had won.