The road ahead is long and dusty

The scenery ain’t much to talk about

Two cows lying under a shade tree

A sway backed horse grazing in the dry field

Several buzzards circling in the distance

The 1936 Chevy chugs ahead with an occasional

cough from its engine as if protesting the dust.

The faded sign by the roadside reads Centerville 20 miles.

An old abandon farm can be seen in the distance.

Implements and an old Ford PU rusting in the yard.

Windows long ago broken by local bored youth.

The Chevy chugs by the old house

and the rear view mirror projects an eerie image

as if someone were watching from within.   

   An old mailbox lies on its side with the flag raised

as if to signal that mail is to be picked up.

Next to the mailbox is a child’s broken tricycle.

A few miles down the dirt road on the left

Is the entrance to a deserted ranch.

The sign over the rotting wood fence reads Circle K.

A barn with the roof collapsed stands guard.

The Chevy backfires and continues down the road.

A painted sign by the roadside reads Bucks Place ahead

Gasoline and cold drinks.

Some two more miles and Bucks Place comes into view.

An old 1920’s Texaco sign with a big star marks the entrance.

The Chevy halts with a sad groan by the one and only pump.

Buck is nowhere to be seen.

A Coca Cola cooler sets in front of the dilapidated building.

Inside are one bottle of coke and one bottle of cream soda.

Inside the building the counter display contains

a package of Wrigley’s gum and a Baby Ruth candy bar

accompanied by a single package of Lucky Strike cigarettes.

Suddenly, the one I assume to be Buck emerges

from a back room rubbing his eyes to clear

the remnants of an early afternoon nap.

He grunts slightly as he brushes by to attend to the Chevy.

I choose the cream soda from the cooler and take a few sips.

It clears the dust from my throat but does little to relieve my thirst.

I pull my last twenty dollar bill from my wallet and hand it

to the man I presume to be Buck.

He takes it and shuffles inside soon returning with my change.

Without a word being said I climb into the Chevy and depart

watching in my rear view mirror as Buck disappears into the crumbling building.

As the Chevy chugs on my thoughts turn to all the back roads of America

and I wonder how many guys named Buck are out there

serving as sad sentries to a life that has passed them by.

©Copyright 2009 Charlie Gragg