My hometown echoes in the rearview mirror.
Up ahead on State Highway 18 the dividing lines
Dissolve to meet the Texas sky.
A pale light meets the horizon.
My wife is somewhere south of here.
Left months ago to sweat in some recording booth.
Wanted to croon the country album
That’s been poisoning her heart since the day we met.
I was told the station’s signals can’t cross the state line.
The clock in my truck is stuck on one-oh-one.
The tuning knob moves freely
Between my thumb and ring finger--
Static on the radio band.
Silence from end to end.
Up ahead on State Highway 18 the dividing lines
Dissolve to meet the Texas sky.
A pale light meets the horizon.
My wife is somewhere south of here.
Left months ago to sweat in some recording booth.
Wanted to croon the country album
That’s been poisoning her heart since the day we met.
I was told the station’s signals can’t cross the state line.
The clock in my truck is stuck on one-oh-one.
The tuning knob moves freely
Between my thumb and ring finger--
Static on the radio band.
Silence from end to end.
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Foster W. Donnell is an emerging poet currently enrolled in the Writers’ Program at UCLA Extension. His work is forthcoming in Southland Alibi and Unbroken Literary Journal. Originally from Dallas, Texas, he now lives in Los Angeles, California.
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