NaPoWriMo 2013 – Day 29 – Dust.

I am not too happy with my poem today. I actually got a call to do some work and have been out all day. Now I am shattered and my brain isn’t functioning. And so I have used parts of an old piece of prose of mine that I was working on yesterday. Rhymed a few lines and cobbled together a very hasty ending …. not happy ….. but…

Enjoy.

…..

The truck’s engine roared throatily

Black diesel exhaust pumped into the clear desert air

An arm waved from the cab and then it was gone

Headed towards the interstate. And whatever lay there.

But that wasn’t for him

The devil lived in the cities … or was it god

He’d forgotten, cared not.

 

And so as the blue and chromed truck receded into dusty distance

As the desert calm returned to his ears

He hoisted the bag over one shoulder

An old guitar over his other and faced his fears

And walked on as loneliness joined him.

 

His boots kicked up small clouds of dry dust

One foot fell in front of the other

As each thought passed through his mind

He even remembered his mother

He supposed he was born to walk and … even to try

To forget. To make distance.

 

The road stretched out before him

An endless grey black ribbon without end

Without purpose, not much hope

Or maybe it led to hell around the next bend

He didn’t know … he didn’t care

 

Mirages formed in the shimmering heat

Patterns in the sky. A bird there. A face here.

Maybe a saint with a grinning leer.

And he walked. Boots clicked.

Leather creaked on his bags straps

 

Pools of sweat formed under the blue denim shirt he wore

Sticking to him along with desert dust

But he felt the sweat cleansed his forgotten soul

The sky was bright morning blue still

As he sat for a while

Drinking warm water from a plastic bottle

Washed down a pill.

 

He dozed in the shade of a billboard

It advertised a radio station

And he gave thanks for this shelter

Twenty miles or so?

The trucker had laughed in confirmation

He’d done the twenty already he guessed

It was now time for the ‘or so’.

 

He hit the top of the rise and then on downhill

In the distance a small dusty town.

Occasionally a rusty truck passed

Sometimes a hand would wave causing him to frown

Curious faces behind bug spattered windscreens

Studied the walker

 

He passed an old black dude

Battered straw Stetson with a small black boy skipping beside him

He heard the boy chattering

But the man just looked ahead unseeing

Ignoring the lone walker. He increased his pace.

 

And the town soon became reality

Not just a distant thought

A few old run-down buildings

He heard ringing. A tuneless old church bell?

An old irrelevant crossroads

Four ways to nowhere or maybe to hell.

 

The roadhouse was ramshackle

 In fly blown desolation

He pushed the door and entered

No air con, no fans to disturb the desert heat

Locals drinking beer… and maybe the devil drank here.

Acknowledgements grunted as he ordered a beer.

 

He put down his backpack on the faded board floor.

Watched as dust motes danced in the hot still air

The bartender raised an eyebrow .

 He placed the old guitar on a well-used old bar chair.

 

Searching pockets one by one

Dollar bills and a few coins

Exchanged for cold beer

Grunts from the bartender.

The joint was hot but the welcome was cool.

He swallowed his beer as he sat on the stool.

 

Murmured conversation behind him

The buzz of a fly

But the beer made the place comfortable

A couple more till his time to die.

For he’d come here to kill Ramirez.

And when that was done

It would be his turn to say goodbye.

 

 

© 2013 Stan M Rogers. All rights reserved.