Roads

What does a road know
of those who travel it?
Could a country path
Tell of the folk who walk it?

If they could know,
And if they could speak,
Would they reflect their travelers?
Or the places they touch and the patterns they form?

Would the road less travelled
Be mysterious and adventurous?
Would the road not taken
Be lonely?

Would the streets of Manhattan
Be harried, irritable, and loud?
Or instead, would they be regimented,
organized?

Would they be goal driven,
Single minded?
Or richly cultured
And in touch with the future.

Would Provinctown’s roads be
Colorful, artsy, flamboyant... like its people?
Or bipolar like its landscape,
Or perhaps a combination of the two?

Would the cramped, narrow, Bostonian roads
Display a cold indifference to comfort,
Or would they shout heartfelt greetings,
Take in the lonely and give them a home?

If a sidewalk could speak!
Oh The stories it could tell!
Though perhaps its best that it can’t
for the sake of skirted women,

In the end though, I think
That roads may be at home,
as silent constant companions,
guarding the secrets of those who travel them.