Letter To America

to my gas-station fantasy
my lost highway restroom, old glory holes
price lit and gleaming
glimmering waving
my triumphant flag
piss-aged and silent
fortified keeper of souls, indivisible
one god watching over human traffic

o’ dawn hill, wrench me from the stream
to breath and to touch the diesel air
wade thick through a moment
through another
to take brief refuge
chest unfurling
soaking in lights and life
‘til the minutes are up and gone