Outside Abilene

~Marcus Goodyear The land less flat than I guessed, it’s still hairy gray with curly pubic oak at the 33 miles to go sign where that church boy fell asleep and killed a family of four on their way camping. Still alive, the land has its labors pushing until the grain crowns golden ripe for the combine, elevated or spewed onto trains running parallel to barbed wire stretching between corrugated iron posts that keep us company. A sign in the dry lake: Please Jesus send rain But Jesus hitched a ride in the back of our truck where the wind blows his dark hair so wild no one sees him smile except the dry prickly pear.