FINAL REST

My investments, all that I had left to my name, I left unflushed in the filthy bowl of a highway rest-stop, right-near the state line. It was an emergency stop, one greasy burger too many, and nothing 'restful' about my gut or the situation.

You gotta watch the meth-heads, man, they lurk out there at night, and have learned they can sneak up and slice your throat before you know it...middle of nowhere. Back to the urinal, or stuck in stall...you're meat, gasping for air, as blood floods your pipes, watching them dance a mad jig in your red pool while howling like demonic dogs before disappearing, the big-bore roaring, trailing, fading down the road into the darkness of the vast and vaporous landscape.

By 3 AM. temp is down to 92 degrees. The sand devils twirl, up-and-frolicing, bowling tumbleweeds into piles along the railings of the highway corridor. In the distance proceeds the flash and whine of the red-light brigade from far-across the long, flat, floor.

Then someone places orange pylons and drapes festive yellow tape…they mop around you…as you lie festered with flies, while shrill bush-birds mock you even in the night, as they’d dive for your drive-thru fries, strewn about the vehicle, that old gold jalopy now being towed-off down the road...the coroner follows, not all that far behind, in no particular hurry, just another soul added to his load. 

V