Passin’ Through

What’s there to know
that this road can’t tell me
what story other than
that
abandoned highway station    where some folk
used to try and then gave up
Just by the side where cowboy hats
cram into cars
where pawn shops sell saddles, tack
taqueria across of Super8, seniorita
Closed Sundays open to strangers, mostly
candy-apple trailer waiting for the county fairs
gray barns all siding nothin’ in ‘em

a sign reads only “BBQ” and points east
all that’s needed to bring
the hungry
lonely
the sometimes wounded, looking for healing and BBQ ribs
the 4-calendar outlaws
escaping the staccato tyranny
the 60 mile-an-hour cornfield

I roll down the window to get
dusk on my left arm and cheek
wood smoke, tilled Texas dirt, hay
yellow-topped green fields in twilight
m’n’m’s in my milk shake

just beneath my tires, I think
church bells over the choir
bulls in the pasture
mamma calling for supper, go get your brother
Gotta make it to Austin
steel toed boots tapping out the blues
double time
rag time
almost
no time left

One Response to Passin’ Through

  1. Renee says:

    You were right….I connected with this one. But I’m loving them all!

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