steep and slick,
the avenue’s return
from second guess
and generosity.
asphalt hosed down
like a night time street scene
in a b-movie

in the wait
blood flowed slower,
thicker than it ought be.

as if it could predict the outcome
the painful bubble of helium
pushing up with familiarity
on the larynx

the wait

spring melt
threw off the coat
allowing tulips an inquiry
overwrought
and gilt with stilted breath

you

presented the
best of the bunch,
as a parting

to another…

another.

© Tom Watters 6/5/08