Sojourn Poetry
On the western plains of Kansas
the signs of gas ahead are fewer and farther between.
The flashing fuel sign on the dashboard gives pause
as it flashes from low to extremely low.
Second doubts settle in about passing that last exit
while the weather creates another distraction.
The ominous, nearly black clouds to the right produce intense winds
requiring an extreme lean on the motorcycle to keep it straight.
The edge of the storm is just ahead
if only I can get past it.
Signs of civilization appear on the horizon.
It begins to rain as I exit the highway.
Under the cover of the gas station canopy, I refuel,
put on my rain gear and proceed down the Interstate.
Another near misadventure averted.
Brent
D. Brent Miller 