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

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