This just ain’t that kind of desolate
shoe-strewn caught plastic bag
dumped paint can shotgun shell
blasting-cap piled drywall
stacked tire half buried beercan
heat stroke downed brown bat
baking mattress not yet auctioned
kind of far edge of town.
***
But give it time, it’ll be.
As in all directions
Vegas will always be
the inheritor of wastelands,
made glorious stucco new home.
Dozers and graders, Vegas vanguards,
slipped past miles ago as they slept,
lacking vigilance, but they track me.
***
I’m far away, but not far enough
that my home won’t find me.
