Poem #49: “A Late Night Stroll”

A Late Night Stroll

The witching hour
and the street is empty
save for one car
approaching from
the west.

The gray concrete
walk is dimly lit by
the halo of streetlights
half-hidden behind
branches full of leaves
so dark they threaten
the blackness of
the night.

The car passes—
slowly, like a drive-
by practice run
checking for witnesses—
and turns around at
the next block.

It’s a sheriff’s
deputy, and I watch
him watching me.

He turns
around again
and this time
.     —this time
he stops.

© 2017, all rights reserved.


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