There is a tiny patch of grass along 75 North, a foot long, or could be smaller. Resting under a tattered billboard for a truck stop Striptease baring all. RV resorts that promise pool side views. Distant motels blink behind as “Fireworks Next Exit” beg mile after lonely mile. There, along Hwy 75 North, you’ll […]
A poem by Wynn Everett
A poem by Wynn Everett
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