Just a blink in the road, this one-mile stretch
of highway in the midst of farmland eked
from sand and spotty rain.
Mostly, people stop here only
at the tin-roofed station where gas pumps
and jam made by practiced hands
sells for pennies more than the cost
to make it.
Come Sundays, the population doubles,
as three churches fill with souls seeking
solace from the sun and wind
that goes on forever.
Only the people who know
how many cracks line the sidewalk
outside Big Martha’s Antique Emporium
know there is more to this row
of stores and houses and vacant lots
then what passes by the windows
of the cars that zoom through daily
on this lonely stretch of highway.
April 1, 2015