Dos Rios
Station 10

ahead of us sunk deep into the hillside railroad tracks
lead to the let alone bar parked in fronta battered pickup
gun rack gleaming a yellow dog sneaks under a porch

--Let's turn in here. Get something to eat. And,
get some directions. This road should take us
to 101. But, it's a question of direction.

quiet inside two locals huddle coldly glassy eyed
they suck on amber colored drinks one laughs
Haw! Haw! and points at me at Ramon

--A little off the beaten path, ain't you?
How'd you get here? You walk? No mind,
leave your packs outside by the door.

--Coffee and lunch, for the two of us.
Irish Coffee. Yeah, that would be good.
What do you think, Lulu?

the two locals sneer Ramon juggles oranges
from the bar spheres spin toward the dark ceiling
one loops out of range hits the floor with a dull plop

--No Irish coffee. No coffee or lunch. Just
a good stiff drink: scotch, bourbon, Bloody Mary.
Or maybe you want something more ladylike?

Nothing, it's time for us to leave,Lulu,
get your pack. It's time to walk away
from their unwelcome. We took a wrong turn.

--Not so fast, buddy. You're nothing but a city sissy.
You don't get off that easy. It's three bucks for the
oranges. And you gotta clean up the mess you made.

alone outside the door the taste of their sneers
and snide remarks alerts me to a new danger
beyond the sheriff chilling rain stiffens my spine

Green bridge over the Ell River--station 11
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