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