pith…

Strip malls give way to strip clubs
One hundred fifty miles grind
Alongside mammoth motor homes

The land is changing
She is more voluptuous
Her sins secreted

While in dusty towns
Proud old resentments
Bolted to bricks shout

“Get us out of the United Nations!”

Greasy truck-stop trading posts
Stand between bands of green
Separating coming and going—

Out on the highway
Blue semi driver plays your game
Trading slots and making up stories

Regarding stiff-armed drivers from Illinois

-   Kathleen Eull

Tonight smells like April
Awake and coming hard against
March spaces—
Forward insistence falling
Upon those wakeful and reaching,
Touching the way to intersect
Before and Not Yet;
Navigating unseen language
Barefoot, yes!
Normal people stand in slippers
To drink a glass of warm milk—
Eat their days in tiny slices.

- Kathleen Eull