My Morning Drive From
In this morning grey I will not stay long.
For every winter day I preheat the car
to travel upon road of frozen tar
here in the little boxes of Mahon.
Where military action left desert
in awkward disrupted state of affairs
and now the poor to work alone or pairs
with eyes to ground to hide the lonely hurt.
This old Nevada valley in the sage,
our tract homes sour as lemons in the sun,
to turn to strip malls where the Starbucks sit.
Somewhere underneath lies a quiet rage,
hides faceless stories never to be spun
and every day I ponder how to quit.
2.) The Oddfellows
Most mornings I move into the golden
morning hidden behind the steering wheel
to avoid freeways lack of sex appeal
like prospector seen in “Virginian.”
To pass the Longfellows and Oddfellows
a large red warehouse with block lettering,
is mostly empty, never gathering,
to imagine card playing Goodfellows.
Then driving past the train tracks flashing lights
into a world of single mobile homes
where every other block a taproom bar.
Bonanza suites provide these down home sights
where Basque sheepherders in the past did roam,
where I turn up the heater in my car.
3.) To St. Mary’s
Somewhere behind “Our Lady of Sorrows”
a hidden Civil War cemetery,
a tree and well kept lawn secure many
hidden nests that house the quiet sparrows.
To cross a crowded highway intersect
upon a campus of higher learning
where San Rafael taught us gardening
and reading students find time to collect.
To work downtown amid many brick homes.
A city block beyond the downtowns rooms
or where the street hustlers will con a buck.
Near casinos and the World Bowling Dome
patronage from this lowly Saint still looms
while lonely shadows gamble with their luck.