Cows Blink

Sickeningly sweet steam
Spewing from my car's grill
Stained the mild spring morning.
I navigated to the shoulder
Of the county asphalt highway
Bracketed by wide farmlands
Freshly tilled and planted.

One moment
I was singing along
With the Eagles.
The next I was invoking
The god
Of burst radiator hoses.

Oh, this was not good.

I tied a rag to my antennae
Left the hood raised
And began my long trek
To the next small Missouri Ville.

I was afoot in a massive
Universe of
Discarded beer cans
Broken whiskey bottles
Fast food containers
And tens of thousands
Of cigarette butts.

I even saw a discarded
Condom.
I mean….
Really?

I wondered if there was
A part number I needed
From the burst hose.
I would need a screw driver, too
For the new hose fasteners.
And water.

The soles of my shoes
Made sucking sounds
On the tar in the asphalt.

The fast food remnants
Made me realize
I was hungry.

Dragon Flies hovered
Above cow ponds
And Bottle Flies
Provoked both the cows
And me.

Not a single vehicle
Came to my rescue
Although I counted
Three Chevys
Seven Fords
One Mini Cooper
And an uncertain make
Of hay hauler
Whose driver flipped me the bird
In response to my outstretched thumb.

So, I talked to God.
How is it
I queried
That you can do anything?
Nothing is impossible
With you
I affirmed.
That being true
Why is it that the skies will not
Rain radiator hoses?

I did learn one thing, however
In my seemingly endless trek…

Cows blink.