by Christine Nichols
Days go by and I think again -
I should turn.
But I pull against the lean.
What would happen if I cast
my eyes like fishing line and
the rest of me followed;
If I moved the steering wheel
down the curve of crusher run,
to what beyond?
Would hard tires drift off the highway,
transform to boggy balloons, and
bow around sharp gravel teeth?
What if this car crunched up the yards
a prehistoric dinosaur,
lizard like, arch and release.
I can almost taste the hot stone dust,
See it billow plaster, film on the hood,
grit the wiper.
But I drive by and know
I will likely die before I find out
what is down there.
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It is hard for me to pick a favorite part - there are so many!
ReplyDeleteWhat would happen if I cast
my eyes like fishing line and - I loved this -- I wish I had thought of it
transform to boggy balloons, and
bow around sharp gravel teeth? - the alliteration and imagery is amazing here.
You are without a doubt a talented poet with a gift for words!