The road dust and red Volkswagen

Sputters up the sun baked drive.

Six hundred miles; ten hours away from

Friends, family, and memories; home.

Heavy laden like a caravan camel.  We

Don’t believe in packing light for the next life.

We don’t believe in manna from the sky.

Only toys, books, and blue jeans uprooted

Like weeds and stuffed in black plastic trash bags

Packed in the hatch of a red Volkswagen Golf.

Grumbling through five states carrying

A wife and a husband. Speeding to beat the

Parting of the sea. Praying to survive

The years in the wilderness as the Golf labors

Up the sun baked drive.