On the Bus

It’s dark. Tail lights are red ellipses
of the sentence of our journey.
Belief prevails that a light
will clear the empty dark—
will open uncertainty like a poem
with a hero like Achilles,
a goddess like Aphrodite,
and tell us into the wonderful
story of our lives.

An erasing rain garbles what light
there is. It is dark,
we are damp and chill and watch
Eastward as if for the Word,
perhaps a portent. We are sure it will come.

A white presence scores the horizon.
We expect the placid comma
of the next town—hotels
restaurants, rest. A pause to refresh
and recreate.

But, we wince, struck numb
by the violent red
period of
the sun.

“On the Bus” is posted in response to yesterday’s Ragtag Community’s Daily prompt segue and today’s prompt anticpate. A twofer. This poem will appear in Lee Robison’s Collection Have, to be published sometime next fall. Among Have‘s dance of themes and ideas is the reveal of how much of life is a segue, a step from here to there. From what is to what still is, from possibilities to possibilities unexpected.

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