Dust Storm Delirium

Most of my mistakes are in Laramie

 In a motel room with a loose screen door

Banging randomly in the wind

And it’s windy and I’m waiting for the next bang

While trying to forget I just had the worst meal ever across the street

At a diner I can’t see anymore because of the dust–

There it goes, one loud crash like the gong that started those Charlie Chan movies.

Now, where did that come from? No way will I be able to sleep.

I’d go for a walk but I might go blind.

This will all pass, right?

 (Backstory: In 1971 I was caught in a dust storm in Wyoming–smart enough to stop driving and dumb enough to pull into a rundown motel parking lot in Laramie.)

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