Such dirty work
turning dreaming tracks

into nature strips
that drunks fall over

on Larapinta Drive
and Heavitree Gap

a tribe oversees
the wrecker’s yard

punctuating the MacDonnells
first landmark into town

The traffic lights glow
with spiteful newness

in the crisp desert air of June
warning us to turn for home

Between Mario’s
and the Peking Palace

the arid zone cruise
of menu specials no one

claims are fresh
Then the traffic lights turn green

Mormons bike to work
in helmets of charisma

dayglo hamburgers
jammed in their saddles