The old man behind the counter said "Good Luck".
I folded the lotto ticket into my pocket next my smokes, and walked out.
My solo footprints dotted the tire tracks on the sandy shoulder of the road.
I wondered how many cigarette butts laid on the Earth.
I low "high fived" the waving weeds until my hand itched.
A Mountain Dew can had been run over many times and the bent letters
looked like the helmet of a Spartan.
It made me pregnant with thought of past lives, acquired Karma, and the Hindu cast system.
Drift wood laid next to the road, and I set one piece in the
pavement, we both pretended it was a river.
Some girls still dressed in baby fat yelled sexy mumbles from a passing beat up truck.
Little tid bits of trash dance in the autos wakes, and I laugh with Oscar.
The tv dinner tray in the weeds reminded me I needed to use the bathroom.
I hobbled on, broke in tow.
But I always get there.
�2003 Daniel J Harris