In line at the drinking fountain desert bus stop years
of complete blackness you bring back with you, circa, 1968,
that took me through several states, some of which I would have to ask
kind strangers to name so I would know where I was. But
that's no big deal. No one would medicate us in those days,
so we medicated ourselves, and
back to the woman standing in line at the only drinking fountain
at the desert bus stop of veritable vultures, crying and talking
to her friend who also stood in line, and who consoled her
as friends are meant to, her arms draped over her shoulders,
saying sweet, quiet things into her ear, and then all down her neck and breasts.