For National Poetry Month

I thought I’d post a frivolous something for National Poetry Month.


Merging on Highway 183

I cursed as a saloon-like sedan pulled into my blind spot

just after I turned on the yellow clicking signal

to indicate my intent.

The dirty nickel sky hung low as I was propelled,

in my aging metal box, careening toward my office.

I slowed to try and find the window

I needed to turn

I needed to reach my destination

and our eyes met.

His hands, too, were white

both tense on the steering wheel

his car also faded from many rains

years of service in a world ever changing.

The familiar look of resigned terror

of smaller creatures surrounded by larger, more dangerous animals

passed between us before he smiled

and slowed enough

so I could gain the left lane. My relief

spread over my belly like warm triumph

like a favorite blanket spread over a sunny lawn.

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Happy St. Parick's Day!