Baker

Broke camp at six.

Slow through the canyon with the

only station lonely outta Barstow;

Static in the A.M. band. Erratic

over canyon sand.

Highway 15,

follow the exit to Baker.

Under a Texaco star,

solo drifter drops to a ghost;

trash blowing over.

Clouds run fast.

Stop for gas at the Seventy-Six.

Mexican tags on a dusty Fiesta,

rusting frame shaking from

Baja to Nevada.

Mad Greek breakfast,

blueberry bun, coffee black, then

Main Street back to

trailer park, paler trees,

Mexican flags crack the silence,

red, white, green in the breeze.

Nothing to do but

wheel away onto

Kelbaker, wide awake;

In Baker,

everything's jake.