04-19-2015, 12:22 PM
Flattened
It wasn’t the scenic route.
There wasn’t one.
In Saskatchewan, the earth is still flat—
ask the locals.
We rolled west over beige carpet,
where the sun sets from noon ‘til midnight.
It would burn your eyes out
if it weren’t for the bugs;
specimens like you see pinned in museums—
exploding on the windshield, diffusing the light.
In shifts, we scraped bloody windows
or rested bloody eyes.
Tomorrow, there would be mountains to climb.
It wasn’t the scenic route.
There wasn’t one.
In Saskatchewan, the earth is still flat—
ask the locals.
We rolled west over beige carpet,
where the sun sets from noon ‘til midnight.
It would burn your eyes out
if it weren’t for the bugs;
specimens like you see pinned in museums—
exploding on the windshield, diffusing the light.
In shifts, we scraped bloody windows
or rested bloody eyes.
Tomorrow, there would be mountains to climb.