Leaving Texas
highway in new mexico
i stop for gas,
standing alone
biting cold whipping through my bones
like wooden floorboards on a bitter gray morning
hafta fill up, pee,
buy more cigarrettes
old man stares at my shorts
he wonders where i came from
i tell him
it was warm when i got in my car this morning
baker city, oregon
check into motel 8 off interstate 84
sit and flip through unfamiliar channels
watch the rain and sleet fight with the window
trace the tattered edge of the blanket that has obviously seen many nights of truckers and whores
pull it tight anway
cold doesn't know the difference between you and i
somewhere near the washington state line
sky is massive and blue, wild and untouched
so fierce it burns my eyes if i keep them open too long
windows down, air tastes cold
fly down the highway, pass lonely truckers
heading home
it's been so long since i've seen snow
radio's going out
nothing but fuzzy jazz and some man screeching about his god
on and on they go,
but i just smile
'cause i know they don't really know the answer
i'm headed home
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