Poem: Hwy 15

 

Hwy 15

 

the sound of breeze,

then meteors encased

in a growl.

 

this is the afterlife.

cars scamper to shriek quietly

across a curdled plain.

 

cars,

 

they are magic carpets,

but only for sabotaged wishes

of prisoners hungry in metal beds.

 

prisoners,

each  a drop of flesh

on a bleeding line of orange glare,

wardened

 

by a relentless vampire sun.

 

and the Mojave just stands there,

holding up the slink of the 15

like a girl offering her wrist.

 

 

 

===========================

3/17/26 ... changed a prep

used "girl" and "her" instead of "boy" or "boi"  and "he" ... personal choice, I guess, based on more girls/women committing suicide by slash in the culture I live in.  On the crisis hotline, I talked to women and girls who did cutting.   Felt more authentic and engaged to me.   I could've used the generic "teen" and "their"  ... but that sounded detached.