Drive

A short poem. For more of my writing, go to andrewhenleywriting.wordpress.com

Hitchhiking cacti

beg for

a ride. Tom Collins

shadows stretch

back to civilization.

 

The burnt out sun

of a cigarette sets

between the thick valley of two dirty fingernails,

snakes of smoke along a

desert dirttrack.

 

Stop Sign Red paintjob

scratched and scuffed

by whiskey steering.

One hand drums to

dashboard blues.

 

Carrion birds and the bleeding sky

watch the hipflask swig

and hot erosion.

The drumming stops.

A horn in the oncoming lane.