martes, 15 de mayo de 2012


The sun's beating on my back,
the road is long and dry,

Blobs of sweat roll down my brow.

My stomach growls.

I have not a morsel at my disposal,

my throat is dry,

thirst is overwhelming,

and blisters are forming on my feet.

- Where are you going?- to Antarctica, to the Sahara Desert?

-No, to the corner store.

Nick Gloss