Red Camaro
By
Deirdre Maultsaid
//Ruthless, the sun shone:
ironing, scorching root and stem.
Its muscles flared, a genderblind juggernaut.
Suburban, possessed, the lilacs whisper.
In the shadowless nought—
on the soulless gravel—
I could see
the rocket hulk of the red Camaro.
My deep knowing—
sweet peas quiver, such poisonous moths—
that you were gone.
Thumb whorl on my text book—
analysis of time’s knoll—
a reminder that you were gone.
Nothing depends on you.
Then, from a green-headed cloud,
soapy drops spatter.
Villian dandelions, too many,
hiss and pant as they bow,
or is it I who bows?
The magnetic core pulls
me through the wettening, flattening grass,
down through soil, aquifer, rockhead, bedrock,
to roiling sorrow,
tolling.
See poem at Pif.