I have cancer of the attention span
and the open road is my only cure.

I stall my imminent death by dreaming up
elaborate schemes to see the seven seas by lunch

Doc tells me I’ll die in a month,
unless I change the way I live

with more pit stops in cities
whose names I’ve never heard of.

And so now, I sleep in my car,
a new place every week,

They say that home is where the heart is,
so I keep mine in the glove box

under a map and stack of CDs.
When they ask me if I get homesick,

I just say I’ve been sick only once
and travelling is my remedy.