Good Karma
Reading Simic in low light
in a back booth of a truck stop bar. Outside
trees like preachers
raise their palms, icy and wooden
above the street--
sorry for our sins
sorry for our happiness.
This place is beautiful and worn out.
Yesterday believed in sun, today
my lungs are frozen.
A man with a guitar and a dog--
eyes like war photographers seek
comes in off the highway
asks for a cigarette
trying to get to Denver, he says.
I'll give him one
only if he'll play me a song.
He strums Walk The Line.
I believe every word
hand him three cigarettes
and buy him a pint of Ten High.
He hugs me
God bless God bless and fades
back into the cold.
I see him on the exit ramp
flying a sign
the bottle to his lips
the dog sitting at his feet
I drive home.
