Concerning Red Lights and the Suck of the Moon’s Tide

Stephen R. Roberts

I am waiting at the light, for the light to change.

It doesn’t change. I am alone in the car.

Traffic is normal, average for the time

in this neighborhood I drive through daily.

Here, nothing much of note happens.

Some days are more conceivable, more

promising than others - rainy ones for example.

A hint of sun slips through scudding clouds

to strike parabolas through my windshield’s prism.

Lights will change as expected or otherwise.

The passenger door opens.

A woman slips in, slides across my upholstery.

Wet with rain, she’s not dressed for the weather.

Except for the hat, a rain hat she removes to release

a cascade of hair, sublimely dry and dramatic.

I choose not to identify the color of hair for reasons

that may become apparent after the light changes.

I’ll proceed through this serendipitous morning

into what could be my future, though it may be hers,

with me simply tagging along for the ride.

Retired from the insurance claims business, Stephen R. Roberts lives on eight acres of Hoosier soil, pretending it to be wilderness. He spends more time now with trees, blackberry thorns and elves, not necessarily in that order. He grew up in a taxidermist household, enchanted by the living animals outside. He and his grandchildren have a toad and turtle zoo. This sheds a little light on his poetry. He's published in many literary periodicals including Briar Cliff Review, Borderlands, Willow Springs, Slant,Water-Stone, Yalobusha Review, and Yemassee. He has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has five published chapbooks, the two most recent – Rhubarb DeSoto & Small Fire Speaking In The Rain.

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