Goodbye to Billy's Super Rib

It was the night of the firefly
just west of Canfield
somewhere in the bowl of Kansas

she sat in her coupe
smoking home grown
outside 'Billy's Super Rib'
that proudly never closes
where she'd worked for seven years
listening to Mexican radio
that annoyingly never ends

she had nothing much to contemplate
just the dust and the sizzled wind
the boys that came and went
on motorbikes mescaline
and mediocrity

so she flicked the roach from the window
put the coupe into reverse
slammed on a Joni tape
that played all the way to Newfoundland
and her shimmering northern light