© Christopher Raine


Divided Lanes


Tall grass wilts 
with lingering regrets 
ambering beneath 
a lemon sun 
cars buzz on 
like angry wasps
against the wind
a background
of chattering locust legs
click in clattering song
while asphalt heat shimmers
against a clear blue sky

She’s late again . . .

Leaning against
the trunk of an old beater
he takes off his hat
wipes his brow
rubs his weathered neck
kicks at loose pebbles
scuffing them over
the roadside shoulder
they fall like rain
over a corrugated culvert
that coughs of dust
dead cattails sigh
in a choir of yesterdays;
days that were meant
to be different