Driving to Tucson, I-10
tires could melt at any second,
gluing the car to the asphalt.
Around me, the dead are rising
from across the oranges, browns, purples, desert.
Zuni chiefs, from their cliff-side pueblos,
curse this foreigner cruising through their home,
top down and sweating like hell.
Dead cowboys, lost travelers,
Tom Mix, white as a ghost and his
double decapitation.
They vanish at the city limits,
falling back into their dust and sand.
by William Brent Wright
"Prairie Magic" by Colleen Burner
