Past Salina the radio gave out

Past Salina the radio gave out.

Static, then the kind of quiet

that doesn't offer anything.

Three buildings. A grain elevator

standing alone against more sky

than one thing should have to answer to.

A woman at the pump

filled a red jug. Didn't look up.

The nozzle clicked off.

Neither of us spoke.

I could see a storm

forty miles ahead — happening

to someone else,

the way everything here

happens to someone else.

Drove another hour.

The land so flat

it was a sentence

that refused to end,

no period, no breath,

just Kansas

going on

past the point of saying so.