map like a tablecloth,
intentions in highlighter pink.
Lost on purpose,
rising green mounds of Wisconsin,
gameboard stormlands of Kansas.
Committee of cottonwood to
catch the lightning.
Take it on faith and roadsign that
you are where you think you are,
graceless days of asphalt,
the smallest landmarks granted the
aura of celebrity.
Oversize drug store.
Palace built of corn.
Kiss a few cheeks.
Sleep in a rest area.
Flex the pedalfoot and go,
pressing an eternity of
roadside past the windows,
four-footed bedroom, gone for anocean that faces the wrong way.
From the collection Fields of Satchmo
Photo by MJV