december after christmas,
counting stars and ants,
tumble weeds…….
knife-carved lovers' names
scarred on picnic tables,
the ghost-chalked cottonwoods
of the tehachapi cement mill
recreation grounds.
i stood across the road
trying to thumb a ride
to furnace creek.
the sunset lit
the abandoned
richfield station,
gleaming on the pumps
still quoting regular for
twenty nine point nine a gallon.
my coat was too thin
for december
desert mountain wind.
i had a story:
about a beach of sugar
washed with
coca cola waves,
titanium spiders
scuttling across
discarded credit card offers
………..peace treaties,
couch pennies,
and broken promises.
the audience responded
with the uneasy squeak
of chairs on a waxy floor.
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