Thick and dark brown mud
Soaks into the paws
Of blue dogs as they chase
Faster and faster convinced
That what they seek is just over
That next fallen log
Zigzagging unafraid of what lies ahead
Stopping just shy
Of the sharp cliff fall
Paws scratch at the edges
Trying in vain to slink down to where he lay
Held back by taut leads
As the excitement shifts to human voices
Peering over the edge to see what the dogs have found
At first just that big box store shirt
Flapping and straining to be free
From the battered and bound broken bones
It lies beneath
Bones picked clean by beak and tooth alike
The animals have had their fill of him
And now the humans who recover him
Will do the same

Thick and deep brown mud
Encircles this road stop café
Endless trucks line its lot
With a smattering of family cars
Needing a break from the road
Black tilted trash cans
Dot the edges of the concrete
Kept company by the weeds
That grow with reckless abandon
Tall swaying trees
Offer much needed shade and cover
To the picnickers underneath them
An idyllic day rocked by the cruisers
That flood in
Drivers with already dirty boots emerge
Dogs on lengthy tethers follow
Bounding and ready for the game
Whimpering with glee as leads are loosened
Noses hit the ground
And dart towards the woods
Hoping to find that missing clue
That will remove the traveler from the road

Thick and deep brown mud
Circles inside the cup
Harsh and sharp
And hot enough to scald
Even the toughest character in this place
Stale and lonely donuts
Lost their appeal hours ago
Even to the flies
As they lay in simple white boxes
Scattered with abandoned crumbs
And unfulfilled destinies
Files are stacked clumsy and high
No matter where the eye lands
Fast food wrappers
Tossed like game winning points
Lay dejected on the ground
Overhead lights buzz in fluorescent song
Head and belly aches abound
And that bright pink remedy
Is the brightest color here
Days blend together
Unlike the coffee
As cream curdles in the fridge

Thick and deep brown mud
Relentlessly clings to those boots
Driving this sparsely inhabited street
Walking up this uneven walkway
And diving under ominous yellow tape
Into the darkness inside this place
Wood paneled and dusty
Gossip magazines litter the floor
Camera flashes with heavy clicks
Echo hard against these walls
Rattling shabby floral wall sconces
And photos of times that should have been happy
Word around the diner is the cat survived
Laziness and lack of curiosity
Most likely saved him
Blood spatter on his fur
Beyond his slow blinking eyes
Shows this to be true
Loaded into a cage all his own
In the back of that car
Like a criminal himself
He stares indifferently at his former home
As the din of neighborhood rumors rise

Thick and deep brown mud
Cake on the boots and shoes
Under random desks
Of this small town squad room
Corkboard art work
Holds a tapestry of the wanted
Pages yellowed under the weight
Of time and circumstance
Faces blend together
But never lose their ferocity
As another case goes cold
Frustration and coffee mixed
With grey and smoke stained walls
From a time not so long ago
Where brutality wasn’t something
Found only on the streets
But in the cages beyond those doors
The cost of justice rises
As the budgets to seek it fall
The determination of the ones in blue
As thick and heavy as the mud
That fills each crevasse on those boots

Thick and deep brown mud
Cling to their boots as they give the news
Why is it always the Mothers
That want to refuse
Can’t handle the truth
Can’t handle the facts
Wants to see proof
And walk her last tracks
But instead Mom is held
Back by more than her grief
She thought this day
Might bring some relief
But instead all they have
Now is just this pain
And thus discard one
For another thick chain
They just wanted her safe
They just wanted her home
Didn’t know she would die
In those woods all alone
So they live with this grief
Although soon they will part
Father and Mother
That girl was their heart

Thick and deep brown mud
Covers their boots and drags them back
But they push on
He was from the North
That much they think they know
Did what he does
But left them in the car
So he could use the carpool lane
To travel to this place
Deep South and hidden from the everyday
Tire tracks brushed with dead leaves
The first trace he left behind
But the bones will rise to the surface
From the rotten depths below
This trusting family of three
Whose still unknown act of kindness
Set them on a path beyond this earth
Together in eternity
Now to be washed clean of his crimes
And set free to find peace
In a place he will never know

Thick and deep brown mud

Wet with circumstance

Hold heavy footprints

That crisscross in frenzy

And scatter backwards

From the woods just beyond

Cameras and notepads sketch the scene

As they walk around the caving portions of earth

Holding secrets no place should know

The trees the only living witnesses to this crime

If only they could speak

What terror would they scream?

Long and lanky stretching skyward

Trying to escape this place

Their greenery makes the weather

Seem wetter than it is

Trapping and holding rain and dew

Caught by thirsty leaves and thick hard branches

Somehow they slip away and fall to earth

Free at last

If only his victims

Could have done the same

Cold grey eyes stare across

Long stretches of packed highway

Exhaustive rushing

To destinations just beyond

The travelers planting grounds

Road side turnouts offer anonymity

And concrete silence

Motor oil and consumerism drift up

Thick on the air with flecks of want and desire

Chain restaurants once filled with chain smokers

Try their best to wash away

That sickly phantom fog of yesteryear

And make you believe all roads lead to paradise

Ominous signs read this is the last exit

Last chance to consume, last chance for miles

The traveler goes unnoticed

Like an apparition or forgotten nightmare

But as that small town gossip queen could attest

The traveler doesn’t want you to find rest

This is in fact the last exit

And the traveler wants to make it yours

Cold grey eyes stare across

The wide, sparsely inhabited small town street

Chain link fences

Guard double wide dreams

Awash in spinning sunflowers

And pink flamingos that tip towards the earth

Sparse grass and uneasy gravel footpaths

Under forlorn garden chairs

Half broken below the weight of its fair weather owners

Invite the traveler to the front door

Makeshift steps of rickety concrete elevate him

The handle seems to hang on to his hand

Twisting with him and unleashing

The pungent odor of discontent and bacon fat

Followed swiftly by the sickly sweet smell

Of ignorance and Twinkies

The sound of dust settling is all he hears

And his steps are swift across

The heaps of gossip magazines that populate the room

The traveler finds his place

Behind closet doors that just can’t seem to close

To lie in wait of the diner gossip queen

This broken down wooden paneled box she lives in

A far cry from that muddy hole

The traveler has chosen