You are still on the highway and the great light of
Noon comes over the asphault, the graveled
Shoulders by weed-blooming ditches where
Two chipping, rusting old four-door shells
Sit crumpled,
Wrapped in embrace,
For years on end. Abandoned.

The jagged triangular diamonds twinkle in the sun
Between the unforgiving, all consuming stalks and pedals.

You slow at the side of the road, but the dusty
Red dirt fires up
Geiger into a rage.

You skid off again. Abandoning.

The watchful red and white striped tower looms
Over the hill. It has stared at them, guiltlessly for
Thirty years.