I-55
by Matthew Schmeer

Need gas? he asked,
Gnarled like a sturdy oak
Withered after sixty years of sun,
And carrying a battered
Red gas can, the metal kind
They say we shouldn't use anymore.
I shook my head.
Car broke down on the interstate.
Just wondering if I could use
The phone to call Triple-A and
My family over in Carlyle.
He waved his hand for me
To follow him to the house.

His wife smiled and offered
Cold cold water from a Mason Jar
Made in days past, blue tinted
With air bubbles trapped in the uneven glass.
Car trouble? she asked.
Yes. Could I use your phone?
So many people stranded out here,
She said, smiling as she poured
More water into my outstretched glass.

Design (c) 2002 Laura Arellano-Weddleton and Erica Mayyasi.
The individual authors retain all rights to their work.