Walking…
Walking through
a monochrome sea
of time-washed
macadam
devoid of lines,
of delineations…
On and onward
Each footfall,
a pulse unheard
Tirelessly moving
through this lost
and absented place
beneath first one,
then a second
overpass pressed –
in heavy arch and
swing;
a frown, a grin –
against a watery sky
Piercing
the dull shadows
of those vulturous
crossings,
consumed by half-light…
A road ahead,
hitherto unseen,
emerging,
uncurling,
curving outward
to meet a wide,
empty highway
Seeing,
on the further curve
(that generous hip
of curb),
lawn- and folding chairs
arranged and occupied
as if to spy
some soon-to-come
parade
Recognizing one
(see? he waves?)
among their numbers
Waiting now for the
solitary car to pass,
then another,
until it’s safe
to cross and join
the small throng gathered
in a wedge of light
that sifts between
the intersecting over-
passes sweeping
past and
overhead.
— C.Birde, 1/21
