Tuesday, September 14, 2004
Stoplight to the Lake
He drives home on the tree-lined road that ends at the lake, a stop light forcing him left or right. But before he reaches its red glow reflecting against the rippling water, he passes the bums and hookers on the corner, waiting for the bus, looking at him like he's lucky.
His mother told him this street used to have trees so tall that they touched each other over the center of the road. Looking up each night, he sees these new trees are growing up, growing close. In just a few short years, they will connect. But for now, he is covered by the thickness of the dark, starless sky above and the deep, airless voice below.
His mother told him this street used to have trees so tall that they touched each other over the center of the road. Looking up each night, he sees these new trees are growing up, growing close. In just a few short years, they will connect. But for now, he is covered by the thickness of the dark, starless sky above and the deep, airless voice below.
