this guy said
secular and undeserving
as lackluster as a drugstore crucifix.
But he wears one around his shoulders.
For the Good Luck, he says.
On wheeled walks across America
He finds it hard to have good dreams
and there's hardly ever any company
in a seat behind a wheel
just an open beer bottle
softening him till he remembers
his father's eleven pointer
mounted sweetly in the basement
above a shelf of Christmas dishes
and a drawer of broken nails
bent backwards on the morning
of the day the garage was born.
He curses the cowboys of the second dimension
and the cigarettes they give him in the third.
The pack atop his dashboard
will last barely through Missouri.
Welcome to Ohio.