Jack Bowman
CROSSROADS IN THE DESERT
Road signs worn away
moan as they blow in the wind
nothing decipherable
even the post is twisted
there is a sharp pain
he gets at times like these
above the left temple
an ache emerges in each leg
then his back strains,
loses power
an old Buick on the fritz
he walks the desolate roads of his life
remembers the chances he had
to do something different
shakes his head, sighs
there are some things
you never see coming
until they run you over.
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