but sand the fine-ground
floury stuff shorn into peaks
& gullies from overuse streaked
flax & mostly platinum blonde & he
(dirty blond) picks his way
stumbling over the mess ahead of
him looks the same as behind looks
the same as east northeast what-
everthefuckyoucallitchris the
money is barely enough to
justify this any more his heel
catches in a vacant burrow he
yelps the bag thuds against his
back it must be 20 pounds at
least probably 30 the bastard who is
even buying anymore he wonders all
the big players are getting
better stuff now he eyes a
lizard ruefully just then the
engine grunts jeep lumbers into
frame man almost as heavyset as
the car switches off the ignition well
why the hell do you get a car motherf-
less likely to attract attention
if it's just one of us torrent of
expletives continues as he heaves
the bag over his head it falls
to the earth sinking several
inches deep the man takes out a
billfold & he snatches it from
him hungrily man unzips the
bag removes a handgun examines
the muzzle ejects the magazine
replaces it apparently satisfied
same time next month 3
miles south 2 west okay
okay
the moon is creeping over the
horizon. he can see the checkpoint
coming up in the distance. a border
patrol agent stands smoking
against the wall of a squat white
building; he feels for his ID.
the guns are lined neatly beneath
the false bottom of the trunk, which
is stacked with crates of oranges.
he has nothing to worry about.
he has come this way a dozen
times before. still, something about
the scene makes him queasy.
the sunset is colorless, unearthly;
the checkpoint's canopy frame is
a lolling mouth over the tongue
of the road, ready to swallow
him whole. the lone ford ahead
is allowed through after minor
harrying. he inhales deeply &
pushes forward & suddenly
everything is a deep blinding
green he feels his body straining
upwards the seatbelt locks the
wallet smacks into his face- the
patrol agent stops mid-drag &
sees a dim squarish form
hovering at a few hundred feet-
crates go flying the truck bed
snaps apart with a booming
industrial sound some of the
guns fall skittering to the road
most are dragged up up
up he grits his teeth clutching
furiously to the cupholder then
stillness then white then nothing
beside remains round the decay
of that colossal wreck the lone
& level sands stretch far away
May 25, 2025