Evening after work,
Radio blares ‘storm advisory for the northeast’.
I trundle along slowly,
thinking and planning that warm cup.
The ice slivers slide easily over
the oily veneer on the windshield.
Remnants of washer fluid,
sprayed unceremoniously
banish the pristine flakes.
The salt sprayer truck makes a sudden sharp turn
in my direction. Corrects itself,
and then passes on.
I swerve.
Avoid.
The washer fluid
still clears the pristine flakes...
1 comment:
That was a nice poem, ilike it. It must a photo taken from inside the car, that's amazing how you managed to do this.
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