L’art pour l’écarts

I’m the poet of the car
Parked on the side of the road
Somewhere between Death Valley
And L’Anse aux Meadows,

But most often in Utah
Or British Columbia,
A peculiar perspective
I don’t expect you to share.

I have no people,
No secret army
Whose silence yearns to be heard.

No one needs to hear my voice
To know someone speaks for them.
I speak so my ghosts rejoice.