West of Ogallala

I remember being stranded here, almost forty
Years ago. All seems very much the same:
Still, the ring of brilliant lights, the pumps,
The battered little store, a single car, a man
Inside, the fields around in total darkness;
To the east, I think it's east, a glow, a town,
Too far away, and being frightened. Nothing's
Changed, except that then I knew that there
Were people waiting. I could call, and they
Would come to rescue me. Now, I'm here
By choice, but no one's near for me to call.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 12 times
Written on 2011-11-01 at 02:30

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