Thursday, May 29, 2008

Dirge

Pregnant skies
withhold the rain.
Charcoal rubbed clouds
wheeze up from the sea.

I am driving an empty road
next to a nervous freeway.
The cars rush past the trucks
who rush past
me.

Inhaling the harvested
celery fields,
the damp soil,
ridges of dried mud
arcing across the median.

It is funeral weather and
I am dressed for a funeral,
creased trousers, necktie,
black raincoat.

I turn the radio off
and listen to the buzz of feathered
tires on dry
asphalt.

I am as the day is,
something big
waiting for something bigger,
a promise biding time.

The howl of wind
blowing through my open window
is cold and then colder;
I feel the skin
on my scalp
contract.

I steer past the low buildings,
staked saplings,
into the parking lot.

I think ahead to the first cup
of coffee,
the scattered, cryptic notes,
trying to remember where
I left off,
who I’ve yet
to call.

Monday morning met
and there’s no rain coming down.

1 comment:

-confessional- said...

love your work.

especially this:

"I am as the day is,
something big
waiting for something bigger,
a promise biding time."

:)