A Speeding Truck, a Cloud of Dust, High Hopes

Steel yourself, Bill. A night of debauchery looms.
Let's hope that all goes right. The hay bales are
Shedded. The fences are fixed. The sun's gotten
Merciless. Even when we're in the shade, our eyes
Are stung by sweat. Take a shower, old pal, or
Jump in the tank. Shave your stubble. Deodorize.
Find a new shirt. The ladies are leaving their jobs
As I speak. They'll be waiting downtown, in the
Whistle Stop's darkness, waiting for us as they're
Tapping their feet to the juke box's music. Let's
Ask them to dance, and buy them some beers and
Some food, and be sweet to them. Hurry up, Bill.
My God, you are slow. Debauchery looms. We
Can be in the thick of it, if everything turns out
Right.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 30 times
Written on 2011-06-30 at 14:30

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