Stop Poem by Robert Scott Cohn

I drive around this blazing desert town
the painted sign said 'STOP'
on the baking asphalt drive
all stretched out and distorted
nearly too hot to be alive.

The heat has had it's way
the painted letters are contorted
sort of like writing on clay
let's see if people are smart enough
to try to survive here and stay.

Life itself in mid-day is tough
the night falls like a blessing
in the middle of a curse.
Leaving folks here trying to survive
leaving it up to us to decide..
which is worse?

Night coming to an end..
or the sun breaking over the horizon again?