For Elizabeth
nameless trucks roar east on I-40
obscured by ancient Mohave dust
swept for eons past Joshua trees
and swirling now past this brittle
pitted motel window
the dust and trucks pressing eastwards
towards my jumble of memories
a matching quiz of locales and emotions
Tulsa fears and Boston urges
or was it tears in Tulsa
Richmond urges and
Boston longing
and what goes with Winnipeg
and where were the binges
and
on and on and on
past sundown past midnight
until finally near dawn
not even the road noise prolongs
what will be half-remembered
when I’m further west as
Barstow insomnia
-
Author:
Will Hiltz (
Offline) - Published: March 1st, 2017 02:02
- Comment from author about the poem: Dedicated to all the other guys who somehow once thought in their youth that a psycho attraction to a rabid, sadistic, feral hog of a woman who hated you would be a good idea ...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 48
Offline)
Comments6
Oooh -I feel it - love the construction of this Will
I'm glad you appreciate the role of construction/structure in a poem such as this. Like Lebowski's rug, it really ties the poem's "room" together. 🙂
Good write.
you may have another fan, my mothers name was/is Elisabeth! and she like this poem was wonderful to me. Thank you WW
I don't your mother was this Elizabeth ... 🙂
That's Ok fair enough still a good' in! thanks Will!
Well written and expressed Great write
Thanks, Tony36. Glad you liked it.
Welcome
"Feral hog of a woman"--how sweet. Nicely done.
🙂
As time passes memories become jumbled together. If clouded by fears, tears, longing, and insomnia they can become hideous dreams. I loved how you presented this recollection or recollections ( it's sometimes difficult to sort it all out) . It flows from trucks and dust to road noise or lack of , and insomnia, with scrambled remembrances in between. Loved it. - Phil A.
p.s. Where the hell is Barstow?
Thanks, MendedFences27. Glad you liked it. Barstow is a small town in the Mohave Desert in Southern California along I-40, many parts of which grow the interesting "Joshua Trees." Barstow has little else to commend it unless you're into the whole Southwest Desert thing, except that an eccentric musical composer, Harry Partch, wrote the iconic piece of avant garde music that bears that title, based on some hitchhiker inscriptions he found along the road there: well worth a listen.
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