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Foothill Transit


Inconspicuous jazz
dangling from the speakers
in a dim red room
Downtown on a hot day,
drinking a beer next to the fan.
Angry, because I ordered wrong.
I only came for the Tuesday deal
and ended up paying 
four dollars more than expected
and my day was mostly shot.

I was only a dozen hours
from getting out of town
six ‘o’clock start to Lone Pine
nicking the Mojave on my way to Whitney
to leave this place be
and not spend or worry
and climb.

Out of town
to move fast and suck wind
to see marmots and a new trail
find winter’s leavings 
high on a steep collier.

The last sips of beer were sweating 
through the glass and I finished, 
slumped across the block, 
back to the office.
Tomorrow would be nothing like today.