Monday, January 9, 2017


I knew we were going too fast
because I couldn't read the Burma
Shave signs as we zipped past.
Clive was in a hurry. The scenery
passed by like looking at an oil
landscape on LSD. We pulled into 
a gas station to load up on Mountain 
Dew and Fritos, almost drove away
with the pump still in the gas tank.
Tunnel visioned the Cadillac to
Austin, the end of the rainbow. We
would be ready to open the trunk of
the red convertible and make history.

One thing had led to another Randy
Quaid called on the cell phone, 
but didn't leave a number. It hadn't 
been long ago that they were sitting
at the diner down to their last cup of
coffee, listening to two hair dressers
having a conversation about welding
while eating pecan pie.

How they got to the spot they were in,
on the lam with no destination, money
running out, both of them fantasizing
about Dusty Springfield, wasn't clear...
the dots didn't connect. The vagueness
could be attributed in part to the variety
of substances they were consuming on
their epic journey. Like Columbus, they
couldn't be certain they wouldn't fall off 
the end of the world. All they knew for 
sure was that they were lost.


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