Just A Place To Sleep

From the NORTH to escape the icy cold to claim the desert southwest as their winter home, the sunny place where no one bothers to shovel sunshine in the winter.

©Just A Place To Sleep

I’m hiding down here

in the vacation trenches

trying to latch onto

a piece of higher ground

(ground without the prickly,

wound-causing cacti)

and those larger avocados;

eating salted genealogy

while bits and pieces

of time slip by;

grabbing the rope of hope

immersed in chaos—it's like

a Dostoyevsky passage,

or paint on a canvas

about life in a

retiring trailer park

by surrealist Ernst,

or a magic wand

carved from wood of holly

(hooray for Hollywood);

I continue to contemplate

the possibility of

one more taco

with jalapeño sauce

and maybe one more

glass of sangria.

Mimi Wolske

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