poem: running away

5 Apr

i keep tripping down this lazy highway
in search of nothing more than the next step
another chapter, another verse, another line

waitresses with big hair and red stained lips
smile at me when I sit in the corner booth
tight against the glass, my eyes glazed over
the desert floor, watching vultures spin
circles on fat thermals in a shocking blue sky
devoid of cloud or rain, or little planes
carrying drugs from Mexico to Oklahoma –

truck drivers come and go, speak in monotones,
laugh on cue to jokes they’ve heard before –
mom and dad sit with Jimmy Ray and Linda Sue
who can’t keep still and talk too loud –
lovers cuddle across the way, his hand drifts
between her legs, a sigh tumbles from her mouth,
my dream collapses and I pay the bill –

a Mexican girl smiles at me when I put gas in
my tank, she needs a ride down the road –
I’ve nothing to lose, I’m no threat –
we talk about survival and midnight walks
in small towns – coyotes leading illegals
across the border, prostitution on the border –
drugs, guns and poems about life –

she sleeps in my arms at dust filled motel
off Highway 8 – I drink straight from the bottle –
poetry has left me, everything is the same –
dawn tries a different approach but the mirror
knows the truth – I see something in her eyes
when we shower together, but leave it alone –
she leaves me in Odessa just as the needle
lifts from the record –


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