Out discovering America in June, wearing

The humid weight of a sultry Texas Sunday  

Wearing the humble guilt of the flying dragon  

Flaying impaled on my wiper blade 

Noting the feasting birds, the unlucky  

Roadkill, the skunk, the turtle, the deer,   

And all the newly minted adults 

Spirited away some awful evening 

Now marked with crosses, flowers, toys and Teddy’s . . . 

Is there, invisible to us, somewhere  

in the grassy knolls along the verge 

A little dragon memorial recalling the heroic  

Beings spent across the killing field of my grill? 

Eternal flame, eternal life, you’re always on my mind 

‘Cause no one ever really dies at Graceland. 

 © Philip Knight 2018