I passed gas once
on a long stretch
of Texan asphalt,
my truck's almost empty
tank wincing
as the Shell, or was it
Texaco?, sign faded
into the creosote
like so much wind
from cabbage or broccoli
or thick crust cheese pizza
without those
little lactase tablets
tucked into my
shipwrecked belly
under this stranded
cowpoke’s bulging belt.
No comments:
Post a Comment