April 1980

Southbound 57

Perpetual Change at volume

blown channels disguised

by open windows

First time past the great river

to places with more sand

and waters foreign to my tongue

A new sun

A new air to breath

and the relief of being unknown

Prepares you for death in a strange century

We could harvest the slag heaps

or move to higher ground

We’d rather go home

but roads no longer go back

to that familiar place

Where we dreamt that someday

we’d be up late at night

sharing Johnny Carson’s ashtray