The Blues

september, 1969. 
he found himself waiting again. 
out at the crossroads, out on the lam. 
this time not running, this time by right. 
a road-side hitcher waits for headlights. 
"the blues won't bring me down." 
that pick-up truck stopped. 
"where you headed, kid?" 

"back to the boardwalk coast to fix the wrong i did." 
that old man would bring him just as far as he could. 
his hellhound sniffing out for a trace of any good. 
the hope he's chasing. 
the blues he carried are dead and buried.