Roadwork


As I drove past the orange-vested flag man
Who had halted traffic in our lane
While the asphalt roller did its job
I waved to him
And when he waved back
I felt a brief flutter of hope
That such simple acts of courtesy
Between complete strangers
Might steer us toward the common good
Where our better selves await us
And where our road began





Two Crows


Two crows come strutting 
Into the front yard
Like Realtors of the Year
Scouting the neighborhood
For homes their wealthy clients might buy
Shoulders back
Heads tilted haughtily upward
They swagger among the plants
For a few moments
Bend down to eat a something or two
Off the ground
Then abruptly
They turn and walk away
Uttering not a click or a caw
Leaving behind no business card penciled
"Contact us"
Only a lingering sense of reproach
That our little cottage
Was a waste of their time





The Old Elation


At night in the map drawer
While you are asleep
The cities and towns and highways on the maps grow bored
And amuse themselves by changing places

Some day in the half-light of early morning
You will begin a journey
And take some of the maps from the drawer
Before everything has returned to where it belongs

Driving through what you thought was Oklahoma
You will see a sign that reads Duluth 20 miles
But instead of panic you will feel the old elation of not knowing
Where you are, or the way forward, or the road home


note: 'The Old Elation' was first published in This Great Society -- http://www.thisgreatsociety.com/16/creative_writing/the_old_elation.html