Nebraska Highway 92

You should come with me sometime to see
The sky grow dark above this filling station
Just outside of Meade. The store's lights,
Pointed downward, show the pumps,
The double entry doors. The lights of cars,
Of squabbling couples there to pick up packs
Of smokes, and teens in need of beer
And condoms, aging racers revving up their
Hot rods in the parking lot, protest the sun's
Departure, but it's gone, and, as the stars
Emerge, the moon comes up, illuminating
Silver-slathered, ruined faces, hopelessness,
A sad parade of broken people looking,
But not finding reasons to not go back to
Their homes. The televisions all are on
In town. The final hints of light are gone,
And, as the cars move off, I absorb
The loneliness of this place, not near
Anywhere, detached. I start to head for
Home, believing that I would have been
Less lonely, less the interloper, if you
Had been here.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 115 times
Written on 2019-06-06 at 03:34

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