Blew dust through the parking lot. Except
That it was already unusually hot, even
For the Arizona strip, there was nothing,
Nothing remarkable about the scene. So,
Here it is, sit with it. A red plastic chair
Outside the door to a golfing concession.
A handful of overweight, elderly Americans
Who were quick to exchange pleasantries
Shuffled from golf carts to dusty shelves
Freighted with tchotchkes and scratch-off
Lottery tickets. The palm trees beyond
Any thought at all tossed and drooped
In the gusts. Hedges and lawns waited
The next watering. Nothing, like the dust,
But finer, infinitely finer, filtered into everything.
Anywhere’s the center of an infinite universe.
There was no good reason to mention this.
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