Rolling Down The Road

arizona highway on a hot august night

indians selling fireworks a liquor store in sight

hitching with migrant pickers, weary and alone

looking forward to the night and resting heavy bones

stopping for a beer, tacos and the law

speaking the local language, hating the steely claw

neon dance hall down an alley of migrant dust

the women were all fleshy and fortunes had gone bust

lying through my teeth and half expecting the worst

gorging on the special and finally slaking an aching thirst

the lady she was taken and so were all the doors

hands on my face and ass on the floor

jumping through a tight window and running very fast

here comes the migrant truck and all my troubles passed

seventeen of us spread out on the spacious truck’s bed

smoking the night reefer and not a word was said

morning seems so distant as the tired bodies drift off

snoring and farting enduring an old man’s cough

the orange sun comes a walking so cool and new

stopping at a market wearing stripes of red and blue

sipping on black coffee and the promise of a mirage of work

we all roll down the block as the cab starts to jerk

bound for california the mountains look afar

bouncing on a freeway being passed by all the cars

napping on a gas can’s smelly foul load

me and my companions happily rolling down the road


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