Shy of Upton, south of Fraley
we hit the exit where God strikes out
at sex. To the left a billboard reads, Hell is Real.
To the right in garnish red, Adult Superstore. I had a flat
here once, the semis blowing by so hard
the whole car shook on the jack. It was winter then,
snowless but biting, with the deep blue clouds moved away
off east. The sunlight misled us, shined a flase warmth
on thorny brambles, scrub cedar, a small stand of pine.
Timid cars pull off, drivers lost or hungry---
they made sloshy circles on the blacktop lot, gave in
to loneliness and parked, gave in to God and headed north.
Dingy white cows ruminated in rutted gullies,
minds sated with blue sky, with the rumble of delivery
trucks as they throttled down.