3-22-99 Tom

It started like a thousand black neck rolls
Piled to the horizon
The late afternoon Texas sky full of clouds
Leading to my destination
To the West the sunset challenged them
Fighting pink and red, coating the bedding
To the right, memories of Capetown and
Words flying out of my head in search of paper

The sign said Prairie Dell and my eyes
Could feel the smoke of an open fire
The smell of beans burning in an old iron pot
A sad cowboy song heard as the sun set…
The wheels rolled toward Austin, the car
Old and looking like it had baked in the California sun too long,
Miles of concrete and asphalt, the Mustang mugged by the elements
And walking flatfoot with a limp,
Packed with wing nuts, guitar picks and gaffer