Wakan Tanka Waits For Me

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Taking the mother road east
Seemed like a rewind trip
Into the dreams of west bound
Men and ladies who left Chi
Town for Santa Monica; they
Sought the sunny shore to rest.

Sunset at our back door down
Somewhere in Arizona
The passenger trains replaced
By cargo trailers never to stop
At wide clips of towns built only
For fuel or Indian trinkets.

In the distance a tee pee
Settled between branches of
Mesquite or salt cedar brush;
Train cars rushed by to show
A cluster of modern tents
Circled to prevent attack.

“Sleep in a Wigwam” the sign
Urged motorists to stop
Away from the freeway noise
Tucked next to the train whose
Resonant horn warned hostiles
To leave the sleepers alone.

The white dashes coming far
Faster than the midnight
Static of dull hypnotic
Beats pounding a rusty hole
Deep in the driver’s brain
Making kitsch palatable.

We stopped to stay in a
Stucco cone banging our heads
On the slopping walls to peer
Into fun-house mirrors near
Blankets with Wakan Tanka;
Red and black on double beds.

Staring at the tapered top
Of the ceiling seeing stars
Aerial above the black desert night
Musing about ghostly riders
Traveling the mother road
We dream in deep sleep slumber.

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Holbrook Wigwam Motel

Michael S. Sommermeyer

 

Michael S. Sommermeyer

Michael S. Sommermeyer writes fast fiction, observations, poetry, mysteries, fantasies, and science fiction. He focuses on oddities, unbelievable facts, strange phenomenon, discoveries, and the people who wander uneven worlds. He ponders the dreams of mythmakers and explores what the every person dreams about. He writes fiction for http://wordsmithholler.com and has written scientific and technical writing for a number of magazines.

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