Leaving home young was the boy’s beginning
The four dollar a day hotels, communal showers,
rancid rooms, battered mattresses,
cans of soup lunch and dinner —
easy enough
From there he traveled foot and thumb
opposite the traffic
Women, old timers loved to tell him
what was wrong with his life
He listened to no one,
stuck to byways
he mapped as he went
His scowl spread with his travels,
carved the route that lured him
into the mountains
to camp alone in the pines
Whatever it was he heard
creeping around that night
he got lost in himself
was the creature he left for