Issue 12, October 1997
Liz Haight - Poem

This night I drove east with a quarter tank of gas and no money.
Made a list of the places I could have stopped.  I could have lain
in a field of goldenrod.  Or drowned in the rain 
of a crop sprinkler.  Hung myself from the deadwood 
of an unrisen barn.  By the side of the road there is the ruin
of a genuine art deco trailer diner; I could have entered
between its halves.  I might have stopped at the golf course 
and sat on a bench against the hedges.  Offered three grown men 
sex on the porch of an antique shop.  Or tangled myself
in idle farm machinery.  I could have walked into the muck 
of a quiet swimming hole.  Coaxed a milking cow to smother me.
Closed my eyes.  Where the road and the river 
bend.
                                
                Valley Falls to Cambridge
                NYS Routes 67 & 22