In my passenger seat she crosses
her legs, pulls down the sunvisor.
Near midnight, and the Perseids
send slow artillery across our sky.
We’ve got a full tank, driving past
the derricks and pump jacks;
the sucker rods bob in the fields
like bored horses. My uncle died
in that refinery, she says.
Chemical spill. No body left
to bury. Cousins got a settlement.
She flicks on the visor light
and keeps her gaze to its mirror,
lit, her own eyes on her own lips,
which she daubs a cimarron red,
her center fingertip bright and greased.
Header photo by ARMBRUSTERBIZ, courtesy Pixabay.