first published by: Melancholy Hyperbole
The road was a river, or could have been
the way the rain danced over pot-holed tar
and glittered under indifferent street lamps.
I sat beneath naked trees, jack-knifed limbs
sighing in the night. I waited for love, lust or drugs.
A stranger in a tweed suit, a dog without an owner,
a miracle or a spaceship.