Nevada Crossing
In Jan… in back of a pickup,
black spots blotting out
horizons: only night and rain
eating up Nevada,
grazing hills and foraging
like the mythic antelope,
only cold and rain
but our sense of occasion
marked closeness in a tribal land
of cropped-up dreams.
Our driver was an older man,
indigenous American,
he stared ahead, said nothing
even when we stopped and Jen,
riding up-front in the cab -
trading stamps for dollars
drinking vodka in a can
topped from a paper bag
lost the plot – pushed wide
the door, pissed on it and inside
like he was leaning on the wind:
while we paused, like the old man,
uncertain of our luck, hunched up
against a painted backdrop,
headed for Reno, leaving behind
the islands of the salt flats,
heading on for Circus Circus
with ten bucks between us
broke, like that, gamblers in the wind
we’d hold or run like children
riding on the moment, sure,
then scatter in California.
Most recently Dominic has been published in the new American periodical, Kudzu Review and Sentinel Champions #8. Having written short stories for several years he now devotes his time to poetry, pointing out, it doesn’t much matter that he’s started late because it is the best thing. Dominic’s blog:
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