UNCOMBED HAIR

Sequoia cactus stand like soldiers

at attention, raising daggers to heaven

as we stream by, counting the stiff bristled

coat hangers. We lean back and let

the dry desert uncomb our hair.

The radio pushes out uptown songs. Broken

neon lights at abandoned bars languish

under a blanket of dust, covering everything,

including the heat.

 

We sing with a song as a curio station

drops out from view on the shoreline

of sand behind us.

 

Shotgun ravaged signs blur past. Like the

whiz of passing souls, trucks and trailers

own the road. Armadillos scurry; some not

so lucky.

 

Leather jacket nights under broken stars

force everything into a chill.

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