Thirsty desert dust, primeval Sierra mountains behind me,
sitting on the Renault outside a cowboy bar when it starts to rain
big heavy tears, as the Nevada plain stretches out in front of me.
Monsoon in the jungle, tall bamboo, sugar cane and bananas
and a little girl holding the biggest damn grasshopper;
It’s the size of a lobster, and somehow I’m not even fazed.
Sitting on top of a slick wet grave, the one that says “Going.”
The one next to it says “Good,” so depending on which way
you look at them, it’s Good Going or Going Good.