my father’s hauling a load of walnut

I’m riding shotgun with an Archie’s comic,

green onion potato chips and an Orange Crush

we’re flying through small towns,

traversing the gravel and every backroad

to avoid the checkpoints, skirting the law

Daddy knows he’s stacked too many logs

and he’ll tip the scales

we’re two lonely outlaws, on the run,

trying to make it home in time

for Mama’s supper, hot out of the oven