poetry

Desert Wind

Pulled off onto the shoulder of the dark interstate,

A half hour out of Albuquerque,

I can hear him setting the jack into place.

He works quickly, despite all the beer and all the grass.

He’s a stranger, a plumber on his way to Anchorage.

I keep away, behind the camper.

I realize as I open my eyes,

I am gently humping the spare.

Somewhat the way I used to rest myself on your hips.

I look into the desert sky in awe of the Milky Way.

The warm breeze on my cheek feels like your touch.

I turn into the wind and a truck whooshes by.

The sudden rush of air hints of foreplay.

He calls out to me rolling the flat my way.

“Well, that’s off.” he says.

“Feel how hot it is, no wonder it blew.”

I part with you and reach over to feel the hot slick flat.

“Wow,” my voice drifts out of a mind far removed.

‘Wow’ echoes in my ears.

Another whoosh.

Another ripple and you are once again next to me.

June 1981