road like a river by db cox

— USMC burial detail 1968

bus drifts up an off-ramp
somewhere on I-95
we’re moving toward
the second show of the day
two is nothing new
it’s 1968 & business is good
behind me, the trumpet man
blows quietly into his horn
warming up—
solo down cold—all heart & soul
miles couldn’t play “taps” any sadder
echoed notes falling like slow rain
on a star-spangled coffin
all group moves choreographed
in one of the few—dress blue precision
Fire the rifles (… don’t look back)
Blow the horn (… don’t consider)
Fold the flag (… stars & stripes for fuckin’ ever)
Pass it on (don’t feel a thing)
Hand-salute (… Semper Fi & bye-bye)
back on the long gray bus & gone
we’ve got it made out here on the highway
just keep the conscience clean
& don’t fuck with the machine
riding a road like a river of black water
pulling us on—farther & faster
each of us bound for that vanishing point
somewhere in the heat-shadowed distance