Collateral

So this is the quarter that squanders itself
famously across your black metal landscape
a penny here,
two cents there
wherever the coin of the realm will salve the greatest ache

hands slotted deep into pockets I walk
head bowed
there's a pancake house full of caffiene animals
on every sculptured corner of the highway.
The ditches have filled themselves with shiny and mysterious
toys.
They poke and prod me as I slip past
a car built from lost twisted parts
flotsam and jetsam of the interstate
making the infinite payment
from an endlessly empty account

yes, here's the life you've demanded so shamelessly
fifty cents worth of summer
shining hot, round and hard from an empty sky above.

burn me red,
I swear I will see you in hell. In fact, I'm headed there now
leaning back to spit in your burning face
this one last time; listen for the sizzle
as I laugh your golden madness down.


originally published, in a slightly different form, in Peckerwood: Wild Mountain Thyme