In These Parts

the edge of town arrives quickly you hang an inscrutable left only to discover one beat-up clapperboard hulk hanging over tall corn as if time and land-wrecked it or you drive to the end of a suburban tract and while waiting for the lights a blue wash of sky paints out the last inflatable swimming pool the land becomes a swampy hollow prone by a basking river treads gets sticky in pent up pockets of tarry sun needles of flinty light glitter the blacktops the road has dropped you beyond the town limits now miles fly straight bending only to the whims of natural inclinations the prim madam inside your G.P.S. takes a long nap turning to your wife or dog you smile acknowledging that the edge of town has once again been shattered