In the median
of a two-lane highway and a two-lane river
Death pauses for breath.
Where were you before this?
Did you sit on a cloud, playing a harp?
Maybe you sat a harp playing a cloud.
I, for one, was as busy then
As you are now.
In the eternal pause
U-turns are required
and the walls are paper thin.
We skim over coffins of coal to where they bring in the cows at dusk
Over in the next county, just across the Styx.
We balk at the water’s edge
where the blacktop flings itself into the brush
We spin on barstools
frowning at the median, you and I,
You can cross over