By Cathi Phillips

MAD DOG HOWLING AT THE MOON

HEADING EAST
I FLIP THROUGH CHANNELS
ON THE RADIO
STATIC
COUNTRY
GOSPEL
REPENT
INSTEAD I LISTEN
TO THE HUM
OF WELL TREAD TIRES
OVER HOT TAR
PARCHED WHEATFIELDS
SURROUND ME
A HOT DUSTY WIND
SEEPS THROUGH CRACKS
IN THE WINDOWS
THE ROAD AHEAD
AN ENDLESS BLACK RIBBON
KANSAS, I THINK

A ONE-PUMP TOWN
NAMELESS
LIKE THE OTHERS
A VERY OLD MAN
AT THE CORNER STORE
A SODA
A DOLLAR
HIS FACE A MAP
HE LIVED HERE
ALL HIS LIFE
NO HINT OF A SMILE
I SIT ON THE STEPS
SHOULDERS HUNCHED
AND DRINK ALONE
JUST PASSING THROUGH
FOR A FEW MOMENTS
INSIGNIFICANTLY

TWILIGHT
TINY BUGS SPLATTERED
ON MY WINDSHIELD
THE MOON
NOT QUITE FULL
I NEVER LIKED
DRIVING AT NIGHT
THE ROAD IS LONG
NO PASSING
THE SIGN SAYS
WEARY
I DRIVE
INTO THE STILL
LONG
NIGHT

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