The one wheeled Mazda rattles
and the stick rubs my leg.
We go everywhere in that damn thing.
Over the chicken house, through flea markets
and the drive thru, on one side.
The rubber escapes the horse.
The man without a family takes
the Walkman, the girl, and the vomit pink Barbie car.
We all go for a ride to the lichen filled sping
where the Indian headdress wears us out.
Poor Lucy covered in TB rags
rides all night.
The loamy dirt swallows the blood
while the grass puts left foot on blue.
The bologna sandwiches feed the flies
and history drinks the Jungle Juice.
The meaning of colors in nature?
Ask the man in the ditch-he's been there.
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