4.3.16 (#63): Hitching in the Late Eighties by Myron Lysenko

when the baby is sleeping
and cockatoos screech overhead
I start my walk from Blackwood to Romsey
kangaroos upright in the paddock watching me

it’s twelve kilometres to Trentham
another forty-five to Mick’s place
where a few of my old friends will gather
for a bit of poetry and music a jam session

each time I hear a car coming from behind
I face it walking backwards with my thumb
hoping I’d get a lift easier between towns
if the driver knew I was making an effort

a police car pulls up twenty metres
in front of me and I crunch the gravel
and try not to be nervous
under my seventies hair and hippy shirt

when I am level with the back fender
the passenger door opens slowly
a police officer steps out and stretches
his casual glance and extra step stops me

what’s in the bag he says
I’m going to a friend’s place
with a whole lot of my poetry
do you want to have a look

no he says stepping back into the car
and slamming the door
he winds down his window
don’t hitch on the road it’s illegal