Warm desert winds coarse wildly
through open car windows on a highway
past abandoned gas stations and
dirt roads leading to somewhere.
The driver owns one sweat stained shirt
absent of buttons and ripped jeans.
He carries a history of miles. Never reads
road signs, just turns when he wants, passing
towns he may have passed before. The
radio owns the air, polluting the roadside as
he speeds by singing without concern.
Roger Singer 