Friday, April 18, 2008


The day was going slow.
I’d gotten two short rides,
And had been soaked by a downpour in the desert.
The rain had just drilled down into me,
The winds cutting through my clothes.
Now I was in Port Wakefield,
Some podunk town of 600 people.
Two gas stations and a bakery.
Car after car, truck after truck rolled past.
The sun passed in between clouds.
I swatted at flies and dried my clothes and my bags.
A touring coach pulled over across the road,
And fifteen little chinamen got out,
Pulled their cocks from their pants
And pissed directly towards me.
“aw, what the hell?” I grumbled.
After some time a little girl road past,
Her mother in the driver’s seat.
The little girl waved, gave me a thumb’s up,
And disappeared down the road.
Finally a car pulled over.
Two guys who looked to be in their thirties,
Sharp beards and sharp sunglasses on their faces.
“where ya headed?”
“Port Augusta.”
“we’re goin’ right at the split.”
“well, thanks anyway guys.”
They rolled off down the road.
“fuckin’ A.”
More trucks passed.
More cars.
I saw a backpacker van approach,
All covered with spray paint,
Sticking out like a sorer thumb than mine.
Two cute blondes,
Their smiling faces following me as they passed by.
“aw, come on!” I snarled,
Watching them fade into the distance,
Hoping I’d see break lights and a u turn.
The wind picked up and I tossed on my sweatshirt.
“well, this is a fuckin’ day. a long, slow day.”

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