#52
Salt Flat
Salt flat parking lots howl
as winds berate the bare plains.
They seem to stretch to the horizon,
littered with shivering cars
and bundled people darting to the stores,
looking straight ahead to avoid other chilly stares.
Winter is a desolate state of mind.
Snow piles in drifts and holds a world hostage
to stay indoors as ice's armies stroll the streets;
their lances pierce skin and bone,
leaving only a crude mark as our faces freeze.
Animals huddle in hasty dens out of the cold,
while men dart across howling salt flat parking lots,
avoiding the stares of all those desolate faces.