Getting religion on I-80

Stuck inside of Rawlins

With those Cheyenne blues again.

Don't you just love winter driving in WYO?

Since I just came from a literary event in Rock Springs, it's only appropriate to revisit a poem by one of that city's fine poets. Here's a sequence from Barbara Smith's poem "Interstate 80:"

...even if you drive the same forty miles

morning and night to work

and know every pimple on the lady's ass

every curve or incline

you could drive it in your sleep or blind

like you do half of the time in January anyway

whiteout white knuckle terror

braced against the blast of triple trailers

whipping like rattlers in the ruts.

This road will give you religion, mister.

 

Amen, Barbara.