My Cardboard Balcony

This Many Miles to Empty by Belinda Roddie and the streets light up under your feet your hot, rubber feet leaving tattoos in the asphalt half-melted in the sunset baked ennui baked lethargy stick the nozzle in your mouth you are drinking an oasis the spout spews gold the taste is too sweet you bend over on the street corner and vomit fire and smoke one more mile to find a liquor store for a bullet of honey whiskey two more miles to see cattle with their hooves split like tree bark the highway is as dry and barren as a corn husk, and the fields are brown, brown, and more brown you have driven this far but your tank rings hollow how many more miles until your throat runs dry? so many words to pronounce the growls are guttural gibberish there's a scream in your mouth as harsh and slippery as coolant and the streets light up

It was hot as balls - in the middle of February, no less - so we congregated in the shade of the largest willow we could find on campus. As Shelly passed out cans of lukewarm soda and juice boxes, Marco was fanning himself with his English binder. Shelly was able to grab the goods from the cafeteria, which she volunteered at, and the lunch ladies were fine with her taking leftover beverages since they would have been tossed, anyway.