Robert Johnson left someone at the Crossroads
The dusty crossroads
Alone
The dirt stained his jacket
His shoes
His guitar case
Drops of mud
The size of a 10 cent piece
Form from tears
I’ve left you at the crossroads
But you aren’t dirty
Like Johnson
You look both ways
No traffic, no sound,
Nothing
I’ve left you at the crossroads
You must feel alone.
