I turned onto the interstate
and passed him by the side
his thumb was out, his eyes looking,
looking for a ride.
But I could not slow my hurried path
and his looks, well, he scared me
so I turned my head and pushed the gas
and left him there behind me
In my mirror I watched him shrink
smaller, smaller, smaller still
until he was just a shade,
a silhouette against the hill.
His clothes were torn and dirty,
red beard and wild hair hid his face,
I saw that he was missing teeth–
but his eyes, they haunt my days.
For there was I, in warmth and comfort
and he stood in the snow
I would rest in my own home
and him? I do not know.