The Road Waits Poem by Steven Federle

The road waits,
but I’m not ready.

I pause, cradled by soft leather
In this silent room,
listening to morning’s
soft breath stirring
the glimmering summer leaves,

as the perched bird
gazes through my open window
into my wondering eyes
and waits.

But this is a good morning to wait.

Look how the extravagant grass waves,
and truant weeds luxuriate along the fence,
while in the small central garden
red flowers gather like
warm, slumbering children
under the wide,
spreading vine!

But still the road waits.

I’ve seen
the glistening pavements
slide under my rolling wheels,
the river to my right,
green Ohio rising
into northern forests,
and misty Kentucky
calling to me
across the wide,
glittering waters.

The road goes on,
and I cannot
wait.

(16 March 2011)