Mark Borczon writes

The lessons on highway crosses

I pull off this dark road
Park in the gravel
Across from the plastic factory
And crack a beer
At the foot of a cross

The moon is a fish hook
Caught in the meat of my cheek
The sweat on my face
Is the cowl I was born with

I breathe down heavy
And hear the echo inside the can
It sounds like a smoker's lungs
Through a stethoscope

The work is done
But the night is just begun
And the beer told me
To stop here

It was the cross
That told me
I had better
Get used to it