The 47 Seconds Between NY and LA
The 47 Seconds Between NY and LA -for Daniel
(The Flash)
Mrs. Johnson’s Chihuahua slipping
his leash; the mailman reaching
for mace; a woman starting
her car; a girl holding
her father’s hand, waiting :02
to cross the street; a shoe falling
from a window; a hummingbird crossing
the interstate; a driver wishing
he would not hit the hummingbird;
a bird deposited in Harrisburg; :05
raindrops in Tennessee; an old man
smoking on his front porch
in Kentucky, whispering, “Wait.” :09
I wait. I wait.
Licking his lips,
he says, “She left me.”
He says, “They all left me.”
He says, “I fathered six
children. And now they’re all :19
gone. Now it’s just me
and the wind and no one stops
to say hello.” He licks his lips.
He says, “I bought a new
shirt. He pinches his blue flannel :28
between chop stick fingers.
He wets his mouth,
takes a breath for words, says
“Do you like it?”
He stares at me. He waits
for me to leave. He waits :35
and I wait with him.
In the distance, the wind
is a roaring crowd
of canned applause living
in the trees. The man says, :39
“No one comes to sit with me
anymore.” He rocks
in his chair, closes his eyes,
falls into a light sleep. I whisper
in the fabric of his dreams,
“I sit with everyone.” :42
The flat highway of Nebraska;
a hotrodder spinning wheels;
smog valley; silicone city;
the ocean swallowing
the sun; licking my lips, I hold my breath,
say nothing and hope he hears me. :47
*This poem appears in Prick of the Spindle
Taken from “…hide behind me…”