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


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


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,




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