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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1031643-Dark-Alliance
Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Travel · #1031643
It was dark and cold in Alliance when the Greyhound pulled in.
It was dark and cold in Alliance
when the Greyhound pulled in.
This would be a hell of a place
to leave a man's ghost.
Corn field and cow shit Nebraska
on four sides and a
narrow strip of greasy, bumpy
black asphalt in the middle.

Leg stretch, bathroom, vending machine,
back onto the bus
to grab my smokes.
Besides a cramped calf, empty stomach
and need for fresh air,
the last 200 miles had only
brought 3 flashing orange
Amber Alert signs.
A sixteen year old runaway
seemed to have the right idea
of leaving this town.

"America's Answer to Stonehenge,"
a stack of rusty cars
in a field,
just north of the
bus stop.
Carhenge my ass!
At least down home we
call a junkyard a junkyard.

"Hurry up and finish that."
The bus driver growls.
Where the hell is
Jackie Gleason when
I need a friendly
word from a driver at 2 a.m.?
The rumble of a diesel engine
and it's blue smoke
stirs the late night slumber
of the town.
I shiver in my worn jean jacket
as we head back onto the road to nowhere.
It was dark and cold in Alliance
when the Greyhound pulled out.
© Copyright 2005 Lou-Here By His Grace (tattsnteeth2 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1031643-Dark-Alliance