i am lost in the canyon lands

traveling at night

i know not where

my only tools a knife and bandana

i sharpen sticks to dig damp sand

and squeeze water through the cloth

rarely there are rain puddles in the rock

i eat whatever i can find

that i think won’t kill me

topping a low rise at dawn

i see a far away road

a few decaying buildings

a long black car is parked on the road

i stagger to the limo and open the door

in the back sits a skinny ghostly figure

looking out the window

wearing dark glasses and an hawaiian shirt

it is my father


Copyright Michael Douglas Scott
628/20