Archives :: Taylor Graham

Red-Wings

Appeared in the Spring 2004 issue.

A man and woman have stopped their car
for the sake of their spotted dog.

Along the roadside, blackbirds unsettle;
between the shoulders, traffic moves on

while a man and woman, set on going
somewhere, must stand here waiting

for a dog-pause. They'll still arrive
at their destination, only later.

The dog takes his time with the road-
side, while swallows weave the shape

of a pond on the other side of right-
of-way, hawking mosquitoes.

Late. The man shifts hands in pockets,
fingering minutes like westbound cars.

The woman grips with both hands
at her open metal door. It's late.

How strange to carry so much weight
and shadow, this cool May morning

with so many wings so unexpectedly
quickening the air.

View bio information and additional poems published in Half Drunk Muse on the author's main archive page.