chicken bones

i am walking down the highway. the paper bag holds a pint of vodka. trucks go by doing seventy. the wind off them hits the ditch. dried goldenrod snaps in half. it sounds like a dog chewing chicken bones. yellow dust blows against my leg. the dead stalks scrape the gravel. i open the bottle right there on the shoulder. the vodka is warm. a blue sedan blows past. another brittle weed cracks in the dirt.