Blazes, and the sun sinks to
far away where blasting
off bus window highway
burns by and his tiredness
of brain-dead day jobs,
overgrown sidewalks, paths
through broken-down fences, then
watching the same old woman every
day trying to parallel park a Chevy Van
across the street—how many fenders
will be dented, how many insurance
agencies telephoned?
Forget it: for a full flaming
harvest moon in the rear-
view mirror looks like a face
in jest. Stopped, threw back
his head mouth open to the cool sky.