A Vicenarian Verse: The Crossroads

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.