Someone catches a mule,
ties her to a sign by the highway
with a bucket of water,
then leaves,
fleeing the fire.
The mule is leaning hard,
pulling her rope taut toward the white line,
the highway still un-melted,
air full of smoke.
Cars and trucks pass
but it’s not clear what kind of help
would help.
Bucket melts
from the bottom up.
The water escapes.
Someone thinks to take a photo
of a mule tied up so we know
the story,
how even freedom
is useless
at some point.
Terry Adams has poems in Poetry, Ironwood, The Sun, Witness, College English, Catamaran, The Painted Bride Quarterly, and elsewhere. He MCs a yearly poetry festival at the Beat Museum in San Francisco, and co-MCs, with Joe Cottonwood, the monthly “Lit Night” in La Honda. His collection, Adam’s Ribs, is available from Off The Grid Press. He lives in Ken Kesey’s infamous 1960’s cabin in La Honda, California, which he rescued from destruction in 1998.
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