DIME STORE COMPASS

Jay Moglia

She whistles in her world while the truants take aim
They're on a slick surface and it's widening
Arm in arm they glide past the billboards
Over the pavement
Over the glass
A composite freeway
A terrain of multiples
The math machine is neon
The bleachers are waxed and lit from below
Crowd sounds come from tiny speakers
And the mercy is stacked high
On the dashboard is a dime store compass
That says where we're going
The afternoon sun angles on the land
Stretching figures into new shapes
Near the outskirts the siren is winding up
And all is calm
They set the formation and slowly back up
Slowly step by step
Slowly until
They're covered by the hills