Leah Mueller

Cadillac Ranch

Cadillacs upended,
noses in mud puddles,
tail fins in mid-air.

America’s Stonehedge:
a thousand-foot pilgrimage
from the gravel parking lot,

with two pit stops
at commercial stands
for spray paint and espresso.

From across the globe,
they come in droves
to tag Cadillacs with mindless

psychedelic swirls,
crude initials, and names
of countless cities.

Air pungent with aerosol,
fumes rising proudly
towards the ozone layer.

On the ground, discarded cans,
dropped while half-empty,
or half-full, depending
on your worldview.

Babies shriek, bladders throb,
and art is abandoned
for the next roadside thrill.

When dusk arrives,
the cars finally sleep,
but they can never remove
their sideshow paint.

The Texas sun always
seems to rise early,
and new voyagers arrive:

faces hopeful, cans clutched
tight in grubby fingers.

At the Cadillac Ranch,
everyone is an artist,
if they can afford
the price of gasoline.

The mother road stretches
east and west at once.

Press your lead foot
against the accelerator.
You may find yourself
going backward to a time

when Cadillacs roamed
free across the plains,
searching for adventure. 

chocolate every day

pools on my tongue
like the sex
I no longer have.

those hot late nights,
those hours of thrashing,
replaced by creamy
brown swirl, each gulp

like an orgasm. 
outstretched fingers
hold dark gifts,
offer Venusian alms.

I always say yes.
no reason for coyness
in the face of
such advancing age.

my swelling belly.
each swallow’s warmth,
secure as a bank deposit.

multiple squares,
one by one, until
I fear I might never stop.

let me rest a few minutes,
then begin again.

 

Leah Mueller is an indie writer and spoken word performer from Bisbee, Arizona.  She is the author of nine prose and poetry books, published by numerous small presses. Her latest chapbook, Land of Eternal Thirst (Dumpster Fire Press) was released in 2021. Leah’s work appears in Rattle, Midway Journal, Citron Review, The Spectacle, Miracle Monocle, Outlook Springs, Atticus Review, Your Impossible Voice, and elsewhere. Visit her website at www.leahmueller.org.