It’s not like flying to Hawaii
driving on a back road
someplace
pulling off wherever I feel like it
leaving my car


I buy a warm donut at Day-Lite Donuts
push open the glass door
signal my arrival with the banging of
the bells hanging from the handle
at the Ben Franklins.
I chat with the clerk
whose family owns the store,
buy a postcard of a jackalope
and mail it to myself


taking off my shoes I wander barefoot
through the local history museum,
wood floors cool on my feet
later, I touch the pigment-thick
aspen tree canvasses in the Tri-city Art Gallery,
also known as Mimi’s Travel Agency


for lunch, I order a “frosty mug” at A & W
learn that the carhop,
pimples, blue mascara and braces,
knows everyone in town,
where they live and work
and who they love,
she’s as clean as this little town
but she knows all the dirt

I walk past the tidy clapboard houses
on floating concrete squares
exploding with orange poppies
but walled off with white picket;
the street ends after three blocks
at the Bowl-O-Rama.
There’s a sign in front:
“ No Loitering”

two blocks south, I return to the Star-Vu Motel
where I’ll share the amenities with myself
(hot-tub NEW!; FREE ICE!),
and after nine hours of sleep
I’ll have Cheerios that come from a spout
down in the lobby, with two guys:
briefcases, maps, coffee, Tylenol
I’ll skip the burnt toast,
and have a Diet Cherry Coke from a machine

after mailing myself another postcard,
a cartoon featuring two farmers arguing water rights,
I’ll get the bell-hop, me, to take out my bags
spend my large tip at Day-Lite
and head out