Westward Poem by Wei Zhong Le

The sun is almost down.
Night is falling now.

The wide open road stretches ahead for empty miles,
a harvest moon hangs above.

My.45 at my side, I feel secure.
Cracking open the second beer, I take a sip
and light another cigarette.

Give it a little more gas,
windows open, wind on my face,

Johnnie Cash is singing on the radio.
I don't know the words but it doesn't matter,
because the sign says 'Mexicali 58 miles'.

The desert races by.
I'm absolutely happy.