Saguaro cactus, Carnegiea gigantea

The days are numbered.


At the edge of the world,

A rest stop offering provisions for the apocalypse

Has become a gathering place for the lost souls

Who are set to embark on their eternal journey

Across the state line.

Georgia O’Keeffe

Harbors them to safety in her Model T,

Charon reincarnated.

In a café,

Scott Fitzgerald,

Sitting opposite a western banded gecko

Gets drunk on straight bourbon

And laughs maniacally,

High on the fallout from the atomic testing done here

Over sixty years ago.


Monsoon season in Arizona

Includes a downpour of vinegaroons,

Blackening the sky and littering the red earth

With legs, pincers, and carapaces.

Wandering aimlessly across the Sonoran Desert,

The mournful cry of a coyote

Reaches my ears

As do the horns of the freight trains

Which rumble through the night like summer thunder.

Bumming it in a boxcar,

I watch America zip by outside the open door,

All the while wondering what has become

Of the Dream.

© Chester Sakamoto