By Chad Hollis
Eyes upturned to telephone towers
full of little birds, black
rowed one after the other
The sky stone-soft slate
veins in vain of rain, sheathing
scribbling selves onto my
passenger window
Drab head sideways
at an angle to the glass
in all its uncompromising solidarity
Hum of the engine and
steady wipers wish-slide
and back again
Drive until dark and the
green squares unquestioned
Charlotte 10 and blink blink
arrow left lane closed
reflect into smears
a little less demanding
on the wet asphalt
Sound of the gutter tripling
against the brick and
like so many soft pebbles
glug-slpop-drip into
the mud below
I always thought alone I was best
and so possible it was
it’s very possible I was wrong
I think I hate you for this
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