Morning Ride

In Frankford, a shovels sharp strike sparks and scrapes on sidewalk as encroaching grass is hacked back.

 

Texas bakes without a break for thirty some odd days and in the first state, the sun shoots straight up shining golden light on brown corn.

 

These four lanes used to be two running straight through Ellendale forest . Along this corridor I have seen signs for Spellman and a baby doll head, on a stick, in an empty field.

 

The country can be creepy but creepy is everywhere, I have seen it in all kinds if settings. Of course, creepy for me may not be the same yellow you see.

 

Leaving Goosebumps aside my mind turns to work, an hour away and almost finished.

 

The two of us tighten it up, in yellows we both see, which pleases me.

 

I am pushing passed the speed limit and thinking about staying out of trouble. Is that ironic? Is this ride iconic? Is jobsite poetry moronic? I don’t really care, there is creativity in the air and it smells like the Delaware wetlands.