Meth House Two Miles Uphill Where The Blacktop Ends

The car rests off the road with no center line.
A relatively new car splashed with mud.
Mud that is night dried to cake upon the body.

Its well pronounced tire marks
groove my pasture land.
The tread pattern still damp to the touch.

Bent weeds and flowers have not yet straightened.
The windshield displays no signs of red blood.
Or spidery cracks. Only the yellow-green of splattered bug.

Footprints lead away from the passenger door.
The driver’s door too close to a tree to open.
Two sets of footprints. One punctuated by heals.

Barbwire in the grill confirms the fence gap cause.
A few goats wander free down the shoulder.
One I spot in the Nelson’s vegetable garden.

A familiar call to the sheriff after a year at this address.
A county tow truck will be along later.
Backseat duffle bag remains undisturbed.

copyright © 2021 Kenneth P. Gurney

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