Stops and Starts

Drove the night. As I knocked,
she was at my door, knocking.
Drove the day back to her note
and thought of her holding mine.
The phone rang. Did you see it, she asked.
I said yes, sure she meant the dead dog
we both passed, but she meant the spirit
of the dog trying to cross the road.
As soon as she said she stopped
and tried to touch it,
I saw a field of sunflowers
and wondered why I’ve never pulled over
and walked loose among them,
all those heavy heads nodding
toward my own. Weird that yellow’s
the color of cowardice
when the sun never runs.
We fell asleep on the phone.
As blinds dates go,
it was a good omen that we were happy
together alone.

From Red Rover, Red Rover (Copper Canyon Press, 2021).

Read on . . .

Sex & Love &,” a poem by Bob Hicok

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