Familiar Journey
There's the old burned out diner, the sign barely hanging.
Looking even sadder, now that it's lost an "e".
It's stood like that for ages, but, somehow,
today is different. I can't explain just why it bothers me.

The motel behind the truck stop stands lonely and deserted,
Each year it seems to sag a little more.
A garish span of neon, flashes TRUCKERS WELCOME!
And the CAFE sign looks new above the door.

A few miles down the interstate I stop for gas and coffee.
I'm surprised that I've come two hundred miles.
The cashier didn't even speak when she handed me my change.
And she looked a bit insulted, when I smiled.

Back out on the highway, I fall behind a semi,
I let that driver pull me straight through Birmingham.
We never even said hello, but when I left him in Montgomery,
He honked goodby, and shoved that hammer down.

Even though I'm headed home again, and home is where the heart is,
I'm aware that it can never be the same.
Could this be a warning that nothing lasts forever?
A subtle way of saying, you can't go home again.

By Charlotte Perry
©2015 Charlotte Perry