She hasn't washed her hair
since Moab. She's sickof all her clothes, dull and drab.
Phoenix might change her luck--
you never know. Or it might cook
her brain with its unholy heat.
West is her dominion. Tacoma,
Oakland, Reno, Tonapah, Needles....
High mountains, mesas, plateaus.
Her rebuilt 1970s Ford--
it's her favorite friend, grumbling
like a big hungry lion.
She hasn't washed her hair
since Moab. She'll get that done
tonight in some damp motel.
Rest for a day in rough sheets,
get back on the road, and find
a job. Might be some form
of love in whatever town. You
never know. Or actually, you do.
That psychic in Sedona said so.
hans ostrom 2024
