I've never felt the good air
Rise above the haze
Of the Valley, unclear,
A subtle suffocation with distance
Like the pounds I've packed
In fear of resistance
To the heat molding my cells
And all too clear is how I hide
In the stuffy shade
Plotting another move
Three in three years
Hoping my feet rise
Up and away from this trap
Before the bear claws catch a toe
And I sink further
Into what has only become
A rest stop on the highway.

Published by Bryn Montgomery