Highway 50

Highway 50 Looking at West Gate and Desatoya Mts_ 7586

Scorching dust drifts across blacktop
Shimmering mirages just out of reach,
Slipping closer to the horizon each passing mile
Desert heat searing nostrils,
Sweat drips from nose, sizzling on pavement below

They call 50 “The Loneliest Highway in America”
A straight shot across barren nothingness
Sagebrush and distant mountain peaks gilded white
A lone vulture seeking roadkill screeches,
Shattering high desert silence
Chastising solitary traveler for disrupting serenity

Stretch lazily in the oven-like breeze
A quick pee
Then back to chasing mirages, full speed headed west
As vulture bids a not-so-fond farewell

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