hitch-hiking 

i can find my way home. 
i am done ubering places. the smell
of strangers' cars. their sadness
& my sadness making a sick soup.
since our car wouldn't start last week
i have been trying anything.
once on the side of the road i saw
a few deer grazing. i offered them
one of my hands if they would take me
back to the hole in the earth 
that i climbed out of. they did not
accept my hand which was lucky
because i needed that for the vultures
who brought me to the coffee shop
on hamilton the next day. they tossed
it around a little like a fidget toy.
i was hoping they would attached it
& consider taking up an instrument 
or something else they couldn't do before.
money is always winged but not
in an angel way, more like in a moth way
or, truly, in a cloud-of-gnats way.
you smack what you can. i stick my thumb out.
this is why i insisted on keeping 
one hand. a truck pulls over. the man driving 
says, "this hull is full of ghouls
are you sure you want to get in?"
i shrug. it's better than guns or bombs.
he takes me past where i was supposed
to get out. we keep going & going.
i do not beg him to stop. i am so tired
of trying to get somewhere. i am so tired of
searching desperately for doors
only to find them opening to brick walls.
when we finally stop it is in another state.
the one without a name or country.
a gas station where we eat something 
full of glorious sugar & fat. 
he says, "i do not know where i am going.
i will take you home soon."
i do not rush him. i let him run the truck
into pieces. the ghouls run free
like decapitated balloons. we sit side by side
on a lost people bench. 
stick our thumbs out & wait.