Jun 2018
Like an endless arrow aimed at the heart of nowhere
The road ahead smashes itself against the distant mountains.
Now the road lasers toward a far horizon and falls off
The edge of the world into cloudy skies.
Cows, like freckles on a distant green field, pay no attention,
And by what miracle is there grass in this barren landscape.
Orange posts on thick black bases march along the roadway edges
Like determined Boy Scouts on an endless hike.
Miles and hours roll away in equal measure and nothing changes
But somehow nothing manages to ever stay the same.
No cactus and no tumbleweed, no sand dunes or gullies.
Only gravel plains that go forever without the smallest signs of life.
A hundred miles and not a village, not a human or a gas pump
Nothing but the fear of breaking down with no phone signal.
All those places on the map a crazy quilt of boarded up abandoned.
Where others’ dreams have come to die and wither in the sun.
Coasting in on final fumes, the the station is a savior and a clown
Finding humor in the city folk who didn’t know the landscape.
Who didn’t know you fill your tank in every town you pass
And never let it get below the half way marker on the gauge.
A final push and finally the Fallon signs appear
Relief is like a cooling breeze that makes the last miles fly.
And there is Fallon, little town where everybody wears a gun
In leather pouches on their belt, and rebel flags are seen.
Where good ole boys and relatives have welcome mats
And handshakes that morph into hugs that sometimes last too long.
Where mosquitos rule the skies and snakes may keep you company
But everyone you come across will soon become your friend.
The paradoxes build a wall that can’t be gotten over
And the only way to go is back to where we started from.
Highway 95 has brought us to a wholly different world
And sadly, we don’t speak the language or understand the rules.
Nothing but to turn around and make that endless drive again.
No one on the road but us, as lonely as it was before.
The trip was made with hopes held high for a new beginning
But the future offered us came with too much baggage.
So highway 95 goes on...and on... and ever on
For some a super highway, for some a mere dead end.
ljm
The road ahead smashes itself against the distant mountains.
Now the road lasers toward a far horizon and falls off
The edge of the world into cloudy skies.
Cows, like freckles on a distant green field, pay no attention,
And by what miracle is there grass in this barren landscape.
Orange posts on thick black bases march along the roadway edges
Like determined Boy Scouts on an endless hike.
Miles and hours roll away in equal measure and nothing changes
But somehow nothing manages to ever stay the same.
No cactus and no tumbleweed, no sand dunes or gullies.
Only gravel plains that go forever without the smallest signs of life.
A hundred miles and not a village, not a human or a gas pump
Nothing but the fear of breaking down with no phone signal.
All those places on the map a crazy quilt of boarded up abandoned.
Where others’ dreams have come to die and wither in the sun.
Coasting in on final fumes, the the station is a savior and a clown
Finding humor in the city folk who didn’t know the landscape.
Who didn’t know you fill your tank in every town you pass
And never let it get below the half way marker on the gauge.
A final push and finally the Fallon signs appear
Relief is like a cooling breeze that makes the last miles fly.
And there is Fallon, little town where everybody wears a gun
In leather pouches on their belt, and rebel flags are seen.
Where good ole boys and relatives have welcome mats
And handshakes that morph into hugs that sometimes last too long.
Where mosquitos rule the skies and snakes may keep you company
But everyone you come across will soon become your friend.
The paradoxes build a wall that can’t be gotten over
And the only way to go is back to where we started from.
Highway 95 has brought us to a wholly different world
And sadly, we don’t speak the language or understand the rules.
Nothing but to turn around and make that endless drive again.
No one on the road but us, as lonely as it was before.
The trip was made with hopes held high for a new beginning
But the future offered us came with too much baggage.
So highway 95 goes on...and on... and ever on
For some a super highway, for some a mere dead end.
ljm
A generous offer of a place to move and help in doing it, but it ultimately turned out to be a place we couldn't live.
(F/Laughlin, Nevada)
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