Rest Stop by Sherman Alexie

I like poetry, but cannot find many poets I actually like. I think I like an outsider view or Native view. Anyway, here is a poem by Sherman Alexie that I like. I thought I would share.

Rest Stop

I pull off the freeway at 3 a.m.
To urinate. It feels good to go
In a dark nowhere, but then I realize ,
As my night vision comes into focus,

That I am pissing in the front yard
Of a small church. Is this blasphemy?
I'm sure it is. But worse, I notice
The church is next to a gas station.

And there is a small house behind me,
A playground to the left, and a grocery
Store to my right. This is a little town
And I'm pissing in the middle of it.

But I can't stop. I can only hope
Everybody is asleep. I don't mean
To insult this small town. I love
Small towns. I was raised in small towns.

Sleep, small town folks, please sleep.
But then I realize there is a large deer
Standing on the front porch of the church.
And another deer standing beneath a broken

Beer light on the gas station. And another
Deer on the stoop of the house. And three
Or four deer on the playground. And five
Or six more on the road near my car. Wow.

I wonder if this is somehow a town populated
Entirely by deer. What if these deer built
The church and worship a deer, slaughtered
By hunters, but who rose from the dead?

What if these deer built that gas station
But fill the tanks with bark and seed? What
If these deer built that house and sleep
In beds made of tree stumps and wild grass?

My human stink, my piss, my predator breath.
I am a dangerous stranger, but then, pop,
A porch light snaps on, a front door opens,
And a large human - a male - steps out

Of the house. The deer startle and run.
I zip up my pants and run with them.
I can't keep up, of course. There's no way
Any human can keep pace with a deer,

But then suddenly, I do. I run beside
A deer that looks at me with such comic
Surprise that I laugh and nearly fall,
But no, I run and run and run and run.

We race through the thick woods. We leap
Fallen trees and brush. We bunch together
To form a knot then we break apart
And splash separate paths through a creek.

We climb a rise to the top of the ridge
And just when I wonder if we'll fly, we don't.
We crest and run with terrifying speed down
The steep slope. O, I hope, I hope I don't fall,

And then I do fall. If one hopes not to fall
Then one will surely fall, and so I do fall,
Falling and rolling down the hill, as the deer
Leave me behind, as I thud to a stop against

The base of a tree, as a I stare up through
The branches to see the night sky, the stars,
The new constellation of one sad and lonely man
Chasing and failing to catch a herd of deer.