You can buy tubes of cement at the local
shop that stop
your bicycle tyres being pierced by the burrs
and thorns
and razor stones of the desert roads.
You can buy a lot of cans that will blend
eventually,
like you, into the landscape’s iron hue.
You can buy playing cards if you ask,
though sand
is the enemy of their silky ways with
numbers.
The tracks we make here converge on the
shop
or circle round it hazily, thoughtfully, as
if considering
the meaning of the fruit, the soft drink,
frozen ices
and the aisle devoted to emergency
solutions and supplies.
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