Cougar, Washington

Throw the peanut shells on the floor
They will be swept away someday
The salt stinging the roof of your mouth
Like the ashy gravel on the sides of the road
Where are the homes?
Who stumbles drunkenly into the convenience store
At seven o’clock to call the cashier a babe?
Cars with trailers blink past on the ever-present road
Cougar is an uncomfortable postcard to them
Blowing by on the volcanic winds of memory
The waitress comes by normal
In a little while brings you a bacon burger
The tables fill but you do not see the evergreen people