No Sidewalks

I have always had this thing for poetry. I love to read it, and I love write what I can. I am going to start posting a poem every once in a while. Here is my first attempt.

I grew up in a small town, a town with no sidewalks. I once had a friend who told me he never wanted to live in a place that was big enough to have paved sidewalks. "That's when people stop waving to eachother when they drive by," he said. It made me stop and think about what I love about living in a rural place, and this poem came out of it. It has a lot of revision to go, and I would love input from all of you.

No Sidewalks

I live in a town with no sidewalks,
And my bones have grown there as the trees.
There is a road that wobbles and winds
And stretches into infinite distance.
My feet have never found its end.

I walk on the road where broken
Asphalt meets weed; I can see
Mountain to mountain to mountain
To sky. A cradle of dirt and rock
Open up to bright swaggering blue.

I stop on the road to let a
Gurgling stream greet my thoughts. I lay
to look out of the mouth of the cradle.
On the horizon, cows and grass give
Way to pavement and glass.

The sky strains too heavy
With smearing, fading smog.
It rolls closer to my road
Every year. Closer
to my road, and my Feet.

Smog, sidewalks, and lifeless steel.