Poet On The Run Poem by bob barci

I pull into town
and no one seems to know.
Just another middle-aged man
who looks younger than his years.
Maybe they’ve seen my face
on some obscure cable show,
but they don’t really know or care.
I walk into a diner
for a quick bite to eat.
“Hey look, a business man.”,
they say cause I carry a folder.
They don’t know,
they don’t care,
that I write down words
when they decide to come.
Lord, let them see that I’m a poet,
a poet on the run.
I run from place to place
and try to read a poem or two.
But, after the smiles and claps,
I’m just another face in the crowd.
Out on the street
no one seems to care.
They rush by
and don’t care to look.
I pull out of town
on another winter’s night.
I guess cold indifference
is the price I pay for being
a poet on the run.