on the westward side

on the westward side of my old home town
where the wind came steady into your face
and the dust from the old spud fields
rose up and clouded the ancient horizon
against the setting sun
i walked carelessly
towards the west and
watched my feet course along the pavement
with only the dimmest awareness of
the complexity of my universe
and the rigidity of the peril
that awaited me in my own sundown as
i looked for the glitter and shine
of empty bottles amid the echoes
of wails set loose upon the lonely highway
in the wee hours of desperate
intoxication
from the brown arm of some mad young man
who wore his cigarettes rolled up in a t-shirt sleeve
and slicked back his hair until it glistened
and throbbed with painful self awareness
and when i found the brown little bottle with the dregs
stenching from the bottom
i placed it carefully and religiously
into the rough spud sack across my shoulder
and trekked against the force of the light
coming as it did from the yellow glower
on the edge of the world
and when the sack was clanked full
and the weight cut hard into my shoulder
i crossed the road and rambled back
the steady dim of sunlight
sending my shadow shooting
a dozen yards ahead of me
like the draw of a lodestone
directing me back home
and a penny a piece

boise jan 2008

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