Instinct

So this poem is a bit like the last one I posted. I'm trying to reclaim some old pieces, like this one. this was a road trip piece I never posted for some reason.

I feel like a man when I drive
when I pull into gas stations
buy a cup of coffee
confirm directions I have on a map

I wear an over-sized Washington belt buckle
with an eagle, mountain and evergreen tree
501's, hiking boots and a T-shirt with a cougar on it
I belong on the road

I like the seeing
trees, rocks, people
taking it in
with eyes stretched

like NFL linebackers
eyes almost popping out
because something important
is always about to happen

a grove of cypress trees
a concrete caveman
an old man on a front porch
widdling himself into a cliche

the route is a free-write
going where it will
with a general sense of direction
destinations left to be discovered

I need the road
I need to see something new
rivers, lizards, cities or diners
I need to study things for the first time

I have inherited the wander lust
from generations of ancestors who needed the road
across the Atlantic and across the plains
because they'd seen home

driving is an instinct
like house cats stalking dirty socks
or dogs peeing on mail boxes
I feel like man when I drive