I left the news and the daily
show behind, and headed
out on a road trip.
I counted the cars on the New
Jersey turnpike- watched all the drivers
looking for America,
as I passed.

My America is
under construction.
Orange cones blocking lanes.
Red flagmen
in the middle of the road.
Detours.
Milling, paving, building and rebuilding.

My America is
long and straight and flat.
Hilly and winding, around
oil tanks, airports, and industry,
along riverways and railroad tracks,
under skyscrapers and cityscapes.

My America is
lush and verdant.
Oaks and palms and evergreens,
Spanish moss and falling leaves,
forest trails and mountain vistas,
great big lakes,
and swamps, and beaches.

My America is singing
songbirds, shorebirds, squirrels and salamanders.
Porcupines and armadillos
Deer, elk, dolphins, seals and bears.
Alligators.

My America lets
me merge onto the highway,
and change lanes in dead stop traffic
when I realize I’ve missed my turn.
Slows down for me,
makes eye contact,
and waves me on,
so I can get safely to the other side.

My America
sells fresh fruit at the stoplight on the offramp,
street food from a truck behind the gas station,
sandwiches at Sheetz
and brisket at Buc’ees

My America
holds the door open for me
when I’m still 10 yards away,
and says Take your time, don’t rush.
Smiles brightly and says Welcome, how y’all doing?
Looks up just slightly to say What do youz want?
Asks with genuine interest, Where are yinz heading?

My America
is quick to make small talk,
and weather talk
and team talk.
Tells bad jokes
and laughs too loudly,
too easily, too readily.

My America-
so eager to connect,
extends a hearty handshake,
reaches out to draw me in.
Enfolds me.
Embraces me.

My America
has been waiting here for me
all along.