But they too are us,
the sucked dry lives
that global trade left
for dead. There was
enough gas in their
trucks to drive sixty
miles to the polls. In
check marks a quiet
rally whispered forth
a new age. It was the
distant cousin of Fat
Chance. A relative we
never associated with.
But he was here now,
a champion of ghost
towns and stretches
of nothing, with a full
tank and his own map.