Traffic Life : Passionate Tales and Exit Strategies
Edited by Stephan Wehner
An Anthology
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 80                  On Driving: Three Poems  When did you get your license, Norm? Father beamed in modest pride, I've had it one whole week.  Highway Signs Stark the white sticks crossed high just like the bones they represent from rock piles or small graves by the roadside.  Plastic flowers loop in drunken abandon, reminders of the absent drivers they replace or huddle posey-like in brown string.  Ribbons blow to tatters in the wind, red as blood pooled on the highway, white as visible prayer.  Over a hill boom box blasting, pickup lights flash across the crossed sticks,
                    Patricia Wellingham-Jones    81  disappear in waves of laughter, tossed cans.  The night bides its time.  Important He talks extra loud in restaurants, paces city streets in a daze. Sidesweeps mailboxes, sails through stop signs, tailgates trucks. Through daily life he skims unheeding, cell phone clapped to his ear.

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