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Poetry

Dear Nervous Charlie's Truckstop,
Fireworks, and Souvenirs, Rt. 65, Kentucky

Jane Cassady

Before we get to the Morning Glories,
please tell me that some of these tchotchkes,
the aproned ladies in three sizes,
the Dixie flag shotglasses,
are only bought by installation artists of color.

We need this many fireworks, warehouses worth,
individual sparklers for some reason shaped like chickens,
baseball-themed Fireball Gift Packages, we need
Spring Showers and violet ashtrays,
beaded coin purses and state-shaped magnets.
We need to risk limbs a little,
to light gunpowder shells
and hold them burning over our heads
to simulate halos.
Oh Heavenly Splendor, oh Cover the Night,
oh spark the Strange Color of our sweet guilty eyes.
We have stood in front of glass in Texas Cyclones.
Tomorrow we will be Moon Travelers.

The ladies in front of us take forever to fix up their coffee,
stand gabbing to the clerk, and why shouldn't they.

Dear highway, dear rest stops, we are a
Mad Dog Triple Whistle With Report,
Clustering Bees Rocket,
Sky Jamboree Night Parachute.
We can see how big it is now,
and we need to cover the sky.

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