A handful of
lop-sided white squares
miles from route 66
they blend, even so out of place,
with the mountains
and the peaks seem to kneel down,
as protectors,
shielding the tiny town
from the outsiders,
the cars,
the road,
the ignorance,
the people beyond the borders of their
town who wish to bury it
they kneel over the city as protectors
shielding the lop-sided white squares from
us.
