Читать книгу Li'l Bastard - David McGimpsey - Страница 23

A sign for a gas station sixteen miles off

is like anticipating a trip to New York.

Everything bent west from hurricane winds,

a radio tower, a flutter of starlings.

Sun-sick, still thinking of a week in May

when I wanted a silent treatment to stick.

The glum, clipped calls and a waffle breakfast

I couldn’t quite sit through. Stupid waffles.

The gas station, of course, is just a gas station:

trucker-sized coffee, bags of corn chips

and local papers fourteen pages long.

Item: San Benito Soldier Killed in Iraq.

The Romans counselled Never argue with the sun.

Trying to not talk, happy without a phone.

Praying my eyes will survive the Texas light.

Dwarf juniper, mesquite, transplanted palms.