Death Valley

Lost in clouds boiling
from swollen tires,
the red sign behind
warned of this path
leading down
to the desert floor

where engines die,
radiators burst,
fuel tanks rupture,

where shade burns,
water evaporates,
can't swallow.

Canteen tossed out,
hat flown to the wind,
I plow a furrow through heat,
bound for the bottom.

I park
and walk
until I can't find shade.

Scott Speck
03/16/2000