Glow

Glow

It was a Buick.  Red.

On fire with a kiss.

The stoplight gave them

just enough time

to carry on

with the passion of youth

while it gave me

just enough time

to write the first three lines

of this poem.

 

Startled by the honk,

I looked up to see

the Buick already

pulling ahead

disappearing into the future

when out of the window

a cigarette appeared

on the end of his arm;

a small glow

dissolving

in the sudden rush of air.

 

 

DeMaris Gaunt

2-21-11

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