The Cactus – a poem by Theodore Davis

The Cactus

To continue down this road would doom me
to untraveled, barren land without end,
but as long as I’m longing, I can breathe
with the engine and the joy that’s behind
me, like exhaust. The road becomes unpaved
onward on. This journey is for the saints
in their sleep, in their rest, till they’re awake. 
My poor ride glugs and chugs, a reprobate,
driving while I’m burnt by tears hardening  
on the dash, for I can love an object,
like I love the cactus still sharpening 
on the shoulder of the last sacrament.
        By now our broken city yearns for salt
        that we sprinkled on it, raw and felt.  

Theodore Davis is a poet and musician from Des Moines, Iowa whose work explores how formal meter can swing. His poetry has appeared in Ink Lit Mag and The Limestone Review.