Kiki Johnson

Hashi Motors

“The thyroid is the brain of hormones.”
-some internet quote-

Mine, however, is a post-apocalyptic gas depot,
door hinge rusted, squeaking with least little wiffle,
under an arid sun. The last drops of “woman juice”
dried & wrangled into the brittle twine of tumble-
weed bounces in the zephyr zoom & red sand dust.
The patron is a war-torn barren woman sitting
on stained lounge chair—plasticky-slats flap,
wrenched from the frame, under years of duress.
She alternates chain-smoking Camels & sucking
on oxygen from a bruised green wheelie tank.
Gray-white hair, simultaneously grease-laden
& bone dry, sprays in clusters like a forgotten
box of old optic wires. Clad in be-smudged wife-
beater & mint green leggings worn, translucent
in the camel-toe region. She is much more
glorious than I could ever describe. Hanging on
by the willowy weight of a butterfly wing.
This whole milieu, in for the long-ass haul,
for what comes after all vitals have given up.