The stainless steel turbo prop striped in red, white and blue
Shook in a salted southwesterly blown across the tarmac
As propellers spun in a Utah sputter
Until the plane rolled over the oil stains out of view of the tall window
The blue skies were grey in Nebraska
Overcast snapshots taken in wide angles
Rough stubble of clear cut corn fields
Drowned in sauces and mayonnaise
Steaks marinated for 24 hours in a whiskey still.
The silt was slow to wash away
With Nebraska came the fall backward
Instead of spring there was snow
No sun, only the bright fridge light
Rustic décor and bear handles,
Forrest wallpaper darkened by the blackout curtains
At night I swam against the tide in the tepid pool
And reached the edge of solitude
Where I toweled off and walked barefoot
Silently in the back hallways
Dripping my respite like evidence along the carpeted path.
