Dearborn Inn
I saw him in the lobby
with a briefcase
deerskin and brass
$1 off antacid coupons
sticking out the sides
He told me there
was no seam between
our encounter and a
marketing conference
he’d attended in 1988
That the future
was set for him
and me and the lady
behind the desk
and he belly laughed
We are already the
purest and vilest
versions of ourselves
we are forever
picking up breadcrumbs
He said there was no
use in crying over
our lost loved ones
because they’d always
be there in 1963
Jogging on the caliche
guiding the bicycle
saying
you can do it, Charlie
I’m letting go now
June Storm
I was out there
a headful of grievances
a bellyful of burning Busch
shaking a Stillson wrench
daring God to strike me
thunderstorm galloping in
from the far blue west
—when it occurred to me
that I knew nothing
that I could not even
call into order
my own grief among mankind
and this awareness did not
make me feel one bit better
it was no consolation for grief
but the fight went out of me
and the wrench clattered
on the hardpacked red earth
there was no putting back
what had been ripped
from trembling arms
I prayed the doubtful prayer
of those befuddled by
the small still voice
in deserts far west of Canaan
and I didn’t feel much
other than hushed hurt
and the shadow cast
on my grievances
towered over
by something
I could not discern
learning to drive
give it the gas
let off the clutch
yeah that’s it steady
look where you’re going now
drive in them tracks
aight we’re meeting a truck
get over
not that far
you’re goin in the ditch
dammit boy
it’s alright
just be glad it ain’t rained
shoulda already
put it in four wheel
yep, alright now into first
easy’n steady
nope
try again
that ain’t it either
now don’t get frustrated
this is how you learn
that’s it, now give it the gas
almost had it
no I’m not gonna get us out
I wish I could
but it’s beyond me now
Travis Burkett is the author of An American Band (TCU Press, 2024). He writes and farms cotton in West Texas.
High Horse 