Sometimes on a quiet road

 

Sometimes on a quiet road 

you have to stop your truck, 
step out,
admire streaks of pink,
the soundless sky. 

Breeze chills your cheeks. 
A vee of birds way up high. 
Unseen children in the dusk 
shout about rules of hide and seek.
Beyond the trees a glow,
somebody’s kitchen. 

Here comes a beagle loping 
through the meadow weeds, 
tongue lolling, 
eyes bright.

And you drive away knowing
you’ll never see that same sunset,
those birds, hear those children,
meet that dog
ever again.

…..

First published in Hobo Camp Review Thank you James Duncan, editor.

Hear me: