It was March.
Jack, Birdie and I were heading back from Mazatlan, Mexico.
No money.
In a Corvair with a cracked distributor.
Broke.
Our eyes boring holes in the headlight beams.
And there.
In the night
On the radio.
Creedance Clearwater
"I heard it on the grapevine"
It was as if the car would run as long as the song.
Like we could outlast our hunger.
Like we could make it to the border.
For me.
Like I could out last my PTSD.
Like the I could deny the programing.
As if my slavery was an illusion.
We listened and the song seemed to last forever.

We crossed the border.
The car died
And life went on.
And I am still a slave, however enlightened.
not free
Peace is in the heart.