Red box rolls

my neck is tense
contained by the car unrelenting
the jerky sticks in my teeth
and the windows rolled down masks
the music
just then a bird met its demise
hit the windshield, sad
but at least it hit in a way so
I don’t have to clean the glass

there is something about
arid lands
like a certain clarity from
lack of moisture in the air
100 miles seems a stones throw
water used to travel here
I see remnants of snake switchbacks
dry beds of meandering paths
If one should follow
where might it lead

to a source?

if stranded, would I die
it makes me wonder
about the casino online homesteaders
not natives, nomadic with
a rich history of tribed families,
immigrants just had themselves
and their own ignorance
to depend, to fend against the bleak
awareness

living alone here where it barely rains
where it’s 90° most of the summer
and well below 0° in the winter
and naught to block
the incessant wind whipping
through the night and day
drawing attention to how far they’ve come

whistling
always whistling
I wonder if it drove some of them mad
or if it provided conversation intermittent with silence?