Western Tack For Sale

"Soles"

I came to hate parking lots.
Row upon row of cars and me without keys.
I wove in and out of the junkers and shiny
ego trips.
All of them locked up tight.
I heard the sound of leather,
tasted dashboard dust.
Maybe I could learn to jimmy locks.
I tapped at windows waiting for alarms or a
long shot.
I wished I knew how to hot-wire.
I dreamed of asking for directions at a
greasy gas station.
Yet driving randomly and reaching my
destination anyway.
All I could feel was the echo of engines.
The sound of their cooling like the ticking
of clocks.
I sat on a curb considering the weight of
my shoes.