Stop signs with bullet holes and a
broken billboard oversee a wide intersection
where the desert has no friends. Roadside trash lay
mangled under scrub brush. Rain has no
business here. Insects run safely across
the road; shade belongs someplace else.
Lightening scrapes a distant mountain top.
Sheets of blue rain find someplace else
to bless. A black Cadillac runs the stop sign.
The sound of life lasts just a few seconds.
It’s a place everyone walks away from.
Roger Singer 