Out of Gas, Star Date Unknown
Tomorrow evening I expect to be in the desert
by the side of the road next to my ’53 Ford,
gas can in hand, wondering where to get it filled up.
If I have luck, no one will come to pick me up
and after a long time I will quit waiting.
At dusk I will notice through the sheen of a desert varnish high
how light outlines the fine edges of dry grass,
how black lizards come to lie on red sand for the day’s last warmth,
and rattlesnakes stretch across the road like hopscotch lines.
When coyotes start barking and worrying,
and a string of cows and calves rushes
to their barns in obscure directions
I’ll crawl into the backseat
and hum myself to sleep in harmony
with the silent engine.
Carol Guerrero-Murphy
