Sand Road Shack

Sand Road Shack

I found her on the side of the road,

in a little shack

that housed the only bathroom

in the middle of the

Mojave desert.

She gave me a thumbtack,

told me to stab her map,

show her where I'm from.

I'm from way the hell across the country,

shoved way the hell up this holler,

right there...

where we don't get sun beating down on us,

where we don't get white heat.

I'm fascinated by the sand roads.

I don't want to pay eighty dollars to see the Grand Canyon.

She tells me a short cut,

a road to take to see the canyon from the other side:

where the tourists ain't,

where the paved road ain't,

and where the cell signal ain't.

I'm in a rental car and figure what the hell.

I bought the extra insurance.

Miles out the sand road,

with the tumbleweeds and cows,

I wonder which one of us is fucking crazier.

I'd go back and ask her,

but I'm afraid she and the shack may have

disappeared by now.

Trinny Sigler 9/16/2015 

Zombie Corn

Here lately, I can't drive past a dying field of corn without thinking they look like zombies. 

Zombie Corn

All that's left now

is the army of zombie corn,

 limbs in awkward and stiff positions,

coloring not quite right.

The slightest wind causes

some to lean forward

and some to tilt back.

The standing dead are

waiting to be gathered,

waiting for the reaper

with his scythe,

ready for

the fall.