I Wait

5 Dec

Clicking go the sounds of sinking leaves hitting smoldering brick.
Dry summer fancies no particular young tree and gives its natural share of
death to all. I lay on my back upon the grass. The brown grass that smells
Like bean oiled motor dust and watch the heat rise from the plain faced tarred
road that is crossed and cornered, one Grey house from mine. I am resting, in wait,
for the dark mask of dusk to bring my her licorice night. Bring me the tooth white stars
of tired galaxies and the pale yellow moon that lowers the unforgiving sun to China.
I lay in wait, for dumb dogs to become bewildered by sounds unseen and bark me all
the way to the grave edge of this black town. I wait, for the red light’s flashing to flash
plaintively and call to halt no one but the two drivers always stealing through a town
center’s crossroads at 4:30 am, like old miners to the hospital, hearts attacking. I wait.

© 2000-2010 brent david fraser, all rights reserved

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