poetry critical

online poetry workshop

the flash

I am here barely, oh,
Morrissey moaning from my car stereo,
leather gloves perspire
under the streetlight’s wan yellow glow.
Waiting for midnight to cleave the day in two,
for the waxing moon to crown the avenue,
for the window to become a door
for you to wriggle through.
Midnight slips into my car without a word
behind you, slurs
her memoir across my backseat,
echoes us, but purrs.
You meet her gaze, water-clear,
as she passes out in the rear view mirror.
For this kindness, she will send you
the last shooting stars of the year.

22 Jan 17

(define the words in this poem)
(28 more poems by this author)

Add A Comment:
Enter the following text to post as unknown: captcha