Gus

Purring along the highway in the dead of night,
Asphalt rushes by, bathed in pale yellow light.
Traveling northward, no clear destination,
Knowing this is vital to his salvation.

He revels in the peace of an open road,
Favourite tunes from the stereo help him unload.
Everything has changed in the year just past,
He faces a future with no path yet cast.

With gentle brake pressure he pulls to the side,
Why not be charitable and offer a ride?
He clears off the seat to make some room,
The hiker shines silver in the light of the moon.

Puffing and wheezing the elder settles himself,
His soft pointed features make him look like an elf.
“Thanks for stopping,” he says, “The name is Gus,”
“Wouldn’t you know it son, I just missed my bus.”

As he accelerates, pulls away from the verge,
He’s struck by a thought, it’s the strangest urge.
For no clear reason, he suddenly knew,
There’s something about Gus.  What though?  No clue!

They talk small talk as he builds up speed,
He sees Gus has the spirit of a fiery steed.
How does this elf keep his spirits so high?
His life, it seems, gives no real reason to fly.

They talk of love and hate, war and peace,
Gus had done time as a shearer, seen his share of fleece.
He’d fought in theatres, from Europe to the Pacific,
Tales of joy and horror, even adventures terrific.

When he returned from war his sweetheart had married,
She couldn’t stay faithful, another’s child she carried.
So Gus made up his swag, hit the road to be free,
Spent his life traveling, no burden he’d be.

His life had been fair; he’s not one to complain,
But somewhere deep inside there clearly was pain.
As Gus went on it became painfully clear,
His main motivation had simply been fear.

Once his heart was broken he could see no way back,
So he got through life, but true love he did lack.
For all his experience and all he’d gone through,
That one thing he’d shut out had left him blue.

Suddenly the long drive had lost its shine,
In the sand it was time to draw a line.
Return to his home and get on with his life,
He’s better than this, live not by the knife.

His head loud with thoughts he comes to a stop,
Looks to his left and recoils with shock,
His verbose companion is no longer there,
He gazes in awe at the empty chair.

Driving on he is filled with wonder and fear,
He stops to fill up and the tale does hear,
Of an out of luck old man, known as Old Gus,
That was killed last night, hit by a bus.