Watch And Wait
A homesick Canadian, northbound,
approaching eighty-five or ninety
blasted past me in a thick fog
up on The Heights, swerved
across the breakdown lane, sailed
the ditch and collided with granite;
everything within seconds was aflame.
Nothing could be done. I could only
watch.
Even the ambulance, useless,
red strobes flashing near midnight,
arriving before the useless state police,
long before the merciful fire truck
lumbered up, could do exactly
nothing.
Almost a week went by.
I told and retold the story; told and
almost wept with each telling, each
detail etched clear as an August sky
lit by flame and stars: the streak of
tail lights diminishing, death in the air,
waiting.
Ron. Lavalette is primarily a poet living in the very northeastern corner of Vermont, barely a stone’s throw from the Canadian border. His work has appeared widely in both print and online journals and anthologies. A reasonable sample of his published work can be found at his blog, EGGS OVER TOKYO
[…] “Watch And Wait” at Untitled, with Passengers […]
Good to hear your voice, Ron, but not to hear of this trauma told. Gonna check out this site now.
the beginning grabs you like a movie. love it.
reminds me of trips driving up to Montreal to visit my Son at McGill. I saw a car turned over as the bus zoomed past. such a beautiful ride…so sad.
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