her voice needled him
as he climbed
the weight of the pack drifted first east then west
he could smell the inky chaparral
his palms still stung
below she'd muttered something patronizing as he tugged at the loose shoulder strap
stop mothering me, he'd snapped silently
it's all about something else anyway:
living too long in one place without enough money
being afraid and tired
he'd managed to keep the pack together
with a strip of tee shirt and a shoelace
but it cut into his shoulder & was starting to take skin
at the peak
he gazed into the broad brown prairie before him
thought of Indians and settlers
trains and telegraphs
and how we never really know
how long things will hold together
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