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"Kinda-Cowboy Wisdom" by Alana Greene

All four windows down,

burlap mullet in the wind.

Sun-sweat glimmering

across your paperback skin.


Face like motel heaven,

lips a bright strawberry storm —

rioting to the radio,

louder than the day you were born.


You say “this trick’s real easy,”

like skating full-speed with no rain.

But after hitting hills in Frisco,

I only see through cellophane.


Misty in the mountains,

girlhood blurred by ginny dreams —

the toe stop couldn’t catch me screaming;

I got smashed to smithereens.


“Diff ’rent worry from a diff ’rent season,”

you say, tapping scraped-up knees.

“You can make a house a home,

y’know, in any place you please.”


Hillbilly prophet, I know you’re right —

you tell me, “Just keep drivin’ straight.”

Onward, not upward, here is good:

My great escape on the interstate.





Alana Greene is an American writer living in London. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in the minison zine, cool rock repository, Fish Barrel Review, and HELL IS REAL: A Midwest Gothic Anthology.

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