A Crazy Dash for Cover
The sizzle of white-hot chains
or an over-baked frozen pizza:
it's the long drive on plastic,
grazing on plastic, plastic squints
from milk-skinned girls in sequined denim.
Bar and gift shop jobs turn
the body to putty, yellow the eyes,
crush the years until it's down
to a bare living room
at the shaky hands edge of town.
A day of piss ant thunderstorms.
Now, suddenly, as you walk the dog,
the gradual paling of moonlight
on late winter low clouds...
or Northern Lights.
You imagine you can
do better than a claw hold.
Someone you love or used to love
speaks of rattle-miles, sun flares,
broken front lawn motorcyles,
Ain't it time for some smuggled
'cross rocky ground happiness?