Lulu Turns the Key

It was the night of the firefly.

Just west of Canfield,

somewhere

in the bowl of Kansas.

Lulu sat in her coupe,

smoking home grown,

outside 'Billy's Super Rib',

that proudly never closes.

Where she’s worked

for seven years.

Listening to Mexican radio,

a buzzing that never ends.

There was nothing

much to contemplate.

Just the dust,

and the sizzled wind.

The boys that

came and went.

On motorcycles,

Mescaline,

and mediocrity.

So Lulu flicked the roach,

put the wreck into reverse.

Flicked on a Joni tape,

that played all the way

to Newfoundland.

Her shimmered northern light.