Monday, March 21, 2005


You pull on
your blazer with the first push
of wind confined
to the river. You notice
the minivan parked
on the gravel behind
the willows.
It's packed
with sandwiches.
It spans
a generation.
Later, at the traffic lights,
up from the serpentine:
a girl on a scooter. A click
into neutral
means stop. Her right foot
lifts off the back brake
as she jerks up. But
it's green
before she treads the tarmac: a waver
at the fork
and she's off... as if
it confirms
what has been said before.
The hanging bats,
an earlier summer
in this gully.
A morsel
of concrete rolls down
the safety ramp.
Something's up there.
A rifle cracks. The van goes down.

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