The Hitchhiker's Thumb

The hitchhiker’s thumb

Took out a mortgage

It was time to settle down

Time to stop roaming

The thumb was stuck

But stuck moving

Stuck out

Stuck carrying a man

Around the country

And then around again

And again

And again

The thumb had enough

It wanted a security panel

On a wall

That it could press itself against

To let itself into

A warm house

Nice sinks

Dishes that need washing

And remote controls

To control

The hitchhiker was not interested

In any of this

He wanted to keep

Catching cars and trucks

And eighteen-wheelers

And taxis--when cash is saved up

And trains--when it’s not

Word is their lifestyle

Was about to become illegal

And the thumb thought that meant

The hitchhiker would have to admit

It was time for a change

But no such luck

Like someone who won’t

Abandon their house

With a hurricane coming

The hitchhiker knows what he knows

And doesn’t want to know anything else

The thumb took it upon itself

To dial a few numbers

At pay phones here and there

With quarters it found in fountains

Where the hitchhiker would bathe at night

Pretty soon it found a nice little place

Above a hardware store in Montana

With a landlady named Irma

Who sounded like she’d be just lovely

The hitchhiker wanted no part of it

And stymied the conversation

Six miles outside of Phoenix

As he was ordering two hot dogs

All the way

From a roadstop

Frequented by off-duty sheriffs

And serial killers

The thumb knew it was going to be cold tonight

And that the only options for sleeping

Were--if they got lucky--an unlocked car

In a junkyard sometimes guarded

By a dog named Steve

Or a park bench

With birdshit all over it

Sometimes you can live with anything

Until you can’t live with it one more day

And that was the day

The thumb couldn’t live this way anymore

But what were its choices?

A thumb is only as good as its hand

And the hand goes with an arm

And so on and so forth

The thumb thought about hailing a ride

Towards Montana

Without letting on

What its plan was

But (un)luckily for this particular thumb

It had one of the savvier hitchhikers

With a very good sense of direction

That night in a broken-down Chevy

In the junkyard

The hitchhiker whistled a song

About a sailor

Even though neither the hitchhiker

Or his thumb
Had ever seen the sea

The thumb wrote the hitchhiker’s name

On the windshield

As the air cooled down

And the windows fogged up

The next day

The mechanic would find the hitchhiker in the car

And offer him a job

Instead of calling the cops

The job would lead to a trailer

And the trailer would lead to a life

And even a wife

And a few good years

Then a few loud ones

And then a few quiet ones

And it wasn’t exactly what the thumb had in mind

But it was better than holding itself out

Towards speeding cars

Hoping one of them

Would slow down

Just enough

To take somebody

Along for the ride