It was November. It was cold; below the seasonal average, the weather forecast said. The wind swept the dead leaves along in gusts. The sky was a cold, clear blue. Really not the weather to be put ... [+]
Mountain Nose: International Voluntary Services/VN, ’68-’69, II-III Corps, as orphanage shop instructor, supply delivery, and recon. Member Poets West Society. "Indiana at 3 a.m." was given Honorable Mention in Short Edition's America: color it in. Contest, summer 2020.
In the morning night
When streetlight shadows
Scramble rat-ways
Under parked cars
And rain, down pipes,
Taps the pavement
Like an impatient date,
Then radio music,
Drifting memory-thin
Over rural roads,
Sputters at its edges
And freight trucks
Swish the overpass,
Their beams streaking
Above my windshield:
A caravan of comets.