I have seen the highway
drawn up short
near the sidewalk
to plod
past horses with iron-ringed mouths
the grey courthouse in the shade,
the creak of front porch swings, peeling white
and the buzz of the barber shop.
Then, with a snort,
and a head-toss toward the last red light
it takes to the turf,
a full gallop--
where the green overgrows its fences,
driving in waves
toward unbolted blue and gold.
No comments:
Post a Comment