Turnpike

Posted on 19 April 2010

At dawn they stopped
for a pitcher of beer
and some Spanish
peanuts. All around
equipment filled the lot.
Lydia slowly advanced
toward the mustard
sleeves of a bulldozer
chained to its transit
bed, oozing emerald
lube from its socket.
Raising his hand like
a visor in the mild pink
light, Leon said, it must
be the year for anything
goes, referring to world
news. Then a lofting smell
brought them to.
They shared a paper
bag of popcorn shrimp,
fried chicken and clams.
They were grateful and
set off again, ready to
pay their return.


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