Highway 15 does not resemble route 66,
And is not likely to breed other Jack Kerouac’s,
Exhausting itself just shy of the Pacific in San Diego.
Like a river that disappears into a sea,
It mergers into 5,
Carrying hopes and cargo
Down from Great Falls, Montana, and points Southwest.
U.S. 15 is a road of dreams,
Not all of them inspirational.
From snow to surfboard and back,
Passing through Nevada’s ugliest city
Nothing ceremonial at the bottom of the line
No fairwell or welcome signs
Announce your arrival or departure.
Going west past Vegas
You pass lost Denny’s,
Which sits between 15 and a long distance railroad spur.
Sand, wind and highway noise mark its location.
It should have bright florescence,
Thereby completing its rural incarnation
Of a Dennis Hopper painting.
It defies hope.
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