This Road
State Highway 129, just a small
artery from one interstate to another,
a narrow line on any map,
but home to this town
that serves good, farming folk
over two counties.
Everyone who is anyone knows
the dip at mile marker 22,
where the water covers the road
those rare times when it rains
and rains.
Coyote and road runners rule
the byways, and the caliche,
dirt packed down year after year,
makes up the county roads
spiraling in all directions
from the two-lane asphalt.
They say Bonnie and Clyde
holed up in the abandoned shack
off CR 52, but that was many lifetimes
before cell phones and wireless connections
brought even Mesquite Bend into the worldly web.
These days, Indian Paintbrush and bluebonnets
bring Sunday travelers into the country
to snap pictures in the tall grass as if
snakes and chiggers did not first call
this ground home. City folk gaze
at the pretty eyes of the calves playing
in the Spring sun and pause
a moment to feel regret or shame,
but none truly know the mind it takes
to plant and grow, to feed and slaughter.
Only the highway sees all of it, the birth
and death of seasons as the cars blur
ceaselessly by.
Ramona Levacy
April 15, 2015
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