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Thirty Miles to Ogallala

 

Thirty miles to Ogallala.

My head is full

of thoughts about the red owl

and all the aisles

of processed food

and glazed donuts

and jocks

in football jerseys

and cowboy boots.

Thirty miles until

I can step out

and breathe deep

the stench

of piss and shit

and cheap bourbon

in plastic bottles

draining in the gutter

with shitty country

"music" streaming

from the outdoor

speaker

taunting the tweeker

asking me for

change

before she changes.

Done