Last I seen him, he was barreling across
The Arizona strip, rolling by Vermilion Cliffs,
Hayduke style, an open beer in hand, the rest
Of the six-pack seated beside him, ready
To chuck his first can out the passenger side,
Soon as it was done and he could catch
An empty mile. He didn’t seem the type,
But when I’d told him that, he’d just smiled.
“I’m the type likes to surprise, the type likes
A good lie under a good, god-given disguise.”
It wasn’t safe to be his companion, but I let him
Drive us home, all the same, all the while
Watching for deer he wouldn’t spot, watching
For police cars out of the corners of my eyes,
Watching the rare-meat red sunset glow sink
Far beyond his headlights, watching stars rise.
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