Thursday, March 3, 2011

New Mexico Town

New Mexico Town

You're trying to sell
a few tons of Nebraska
alfalfa square bales
stolen by primal light
of summer stars.
Only half the town,
the tourist half,
is colored oatmeal-adobe.
The jail is half a dozen
telephone poles
past a scrambled eggs joint.
Your waitress is two decades
of snapping dogs, black eyes,
getting called a dirty shame.
She's in a red-gone-pink,
low-cut cotton dress...
cracked name tag: Dusty.
You ask about pie,
lose your way
through her list,
so she helps you out,
It's late, so take
a wedge of dumb-ass
a la mode.
Now you know
you're going to
get along just fine.

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