YEG

Arrive depart arrive across flat tarmac,
broken earth of a wide Canadian prairie
into the new found land of diesel
machine, and men in camo green.
Waiting in arrivals, my driver.
Tasked because he couldn’t zip his lip.
An entire desert in his long stare.
“Welcome Ma’am”, proffered hands,
“Are you good to go?”
Who knew? Who knew?
He, I, all of us swallowed whole
into diesel and steel Behemoth,
via flights through YEG,
a cup of Starbucks grabbed,
our feet slapped across tiles
shale, with ammonites embed.