Tread

Road straight and dry,
soft clap of soles on asphalt.
Bag on my shoulder, traveling.
Wandering, hmm, no.
Following the twin yellow guidelines.

Dusty nostrils.
Wind and sun put on a slow burn
along my face and arms.
Tired jeans. Salty shirt.
Scratched sunglasses carve a deep
imprint into the bridge of my nose.
When did I last take 'em off?
Cracked lips and powder-white tongue.
Walk on.

Sand to both sides,
juice bearing cacti sprinkled amongst the rocks.
Scent of desert flower lost
in a blast of diesel exhaust.
Silence returns but for the patient slither of snakes,
the scuttling scorpion and
the slap of shoes on the road.