Cold grey eyes stare across

The wide, sparsely inhabited small town street

Chain link fences

Guard double wide dreams

Awash in spinning sunflowers

And pink flamingos that tip towards the earth

Sparse grass and uneasy gravel footpaths

Under forlorn garden chairs

Half broken below the weight of its fair weather owners

Invite the traveler to the front door

Makeshift steps of rickety concrete elevate him

The handle seems to hang on to his hand

Twisting with him and unleashing

The pungent odor of discontent and bacon fat

Followed swiftly by the sickly sweet smell

Of ignorance and Twinkies

The sound of dust settling is all he hears

And his steps are swift across

The heaps of gossip magazines that populate the room

The traveler finds his place

Behind closet doors that just can’t seem to close

To lie in wait of the diner gossip queen

This broken down wooden paneled box she lives in

A far cry from that muddy hole

The traveler has chosen

Cold grey eyes stare down

Into the chipped white cup

Where blackness swirls

Thick and harsh and lukewarm at best

That slow spinning slice of apple pie

Would make him too obvious

The traveler smiles to himself

Avoiding that reflection

And the buzzing neon sign above it

Behind the counter of that small town diner

They watch him stir the sludge

And wonder about him for small moments

Between the wide and treacherous gossip

Swirling thicker than the coffee

Chirping like birds on a bright spring morning

Small towns hold the most secrets

Each soul deserving and undeserving

Of a visit from the traveler

Time moves slower in places like this

Only a brush with the rusty hands of the traveler

Could cause its quickening

Gossip is silenced and truth comes to light

In the deep dark woods

Known only to the traveler

Cold grey eyes stare down

A long stretch of lonely gravel road

A back road through the back woods

Towns almost too small to name

But large enough to hold the secrets

Of the traveler as he passes through

Small town blues

Offer small town views

Through small town hues

From sun up to sundown

The traveler is a hunter

Blood rust caked hands

And muddied boots the only clue

Soon washed clean

By a man who is anything but

The traveler stays in the shadows

Hidden in plain sight

An outsider on the outskirts

Of an indifferent world

This only seeks to ramp up his quest

For only those who come to know his face

Wish they never had

Cold grey eyes stare through

The dark menacing maze of forest

Months since the last time

He walked these woods

In the distance he hears the young man he follows

Now blinded and tripping over roots

With bound hands and muddy blindfold

His big box store shirt torn and ragged

Dressed for work and not ready for his grave

The traveler knows these woods

His footing as sure

As the knowledge of what comes next

The young man runs a crisscross path of terror

And for once the traveler walks the straight and narrow

He follows excitedly, delighted in the hunt

Along that path they travel

Separated only by his victims fear and snarled terrain

A scream echoes suddenly in the distance

And trails away

The cliff came sooner

Than the young man could have known

As the traveler gazes down from its sharp edge

To the young man’s last earthly moments

Then the traveler is on the move again

Cold grey eyes stare out

Across a vast and endless lot

To that big box store across the highway

From the doorway of the lonely motel

He stands and stares as his trench coat

Swipes impatient at his legs

Coaxing him to move onward

A housekeeping cart a few doors away

Appears abandoned until her seeking hand

Stretches out of a room towards it

Some stains are harder than others to remove

He stares at that hand and imagines

It striking the air in vain

A few feet from her a makeshift grave

He smiles and wonders to himself

If anything would change for her

If she knew today might have been her last

Stepping forward and away from her

Both their journeys continue

But only the traveler knows

The bloody road that lies ahead

Cold grey eyes stare up

At the dusty, quivering ceiling fan

Suspended over the bed

The air is thick

And doesn’t bend

To the fan’s persuasion

Tap in the bathroom drips slow

Each drop so slow to let go

The bed remains made

Thick fabric, unyielding to the touch

Where this dark figure lays

Fully dressed and ever ready

For what surely will lie just beyond

One of these endless motel room doors

This side of the road traffic diversion

Dark secret lies and seductive perversion

For now the night is still

For now this room is dark

For the moment the world is safe

And at first light the traveler

Will be one more secret this room will keep

Cold grey eyes stare down

At the sweet young passenger he found

If she notices it doesn’t show

Like that light in her eyes no one else will know

Road stretches on to the next town

She should have waved him on when he slowed down

But hitching must have seemed the best way

To run from their rules – to break away

Later that night she’ll uncover

What they never wanted her to discover

The Traveler wants blood on his knife

Another notch on his handle; her life

He’ll find her a place in the ground

That’s shallow and not really profound

They’ll search endless; no clues

Mom and Dad and those blues

The Traveler goes on with his quest

While she sleeps in the ground with no rest

Cold grey eyes stare down

At a dirty sink basin

Scrubbing another secret away

Murky water spurts and sputters

Scalding hot and icy at once

Rust on his thick fingers

Caked on like his disguise

His true nature buried deeper

Than holes he’s had to dig

Shallow and barren

His eyes find their way to the mirror

A distorted image greets him

Glaring through cracks and missing reflection

Smiling he knows

No amount of scrubbing

Will wash away his truth

His ride has a full tank and endless secrets

It’s as new to him as the ground is to them

He hits the highway

The traveler is on the move