Three dark-haired boys--wavy, curly, skull-cap straight
Walk out into the bare crosswalk;
Five in the afternoon, a slant of shadeless light;
These thick, flat streets are too new for trees.
That building's stone cladding is dappled by car shadow
And the second story--where the plastic tooth dressed as Santa
Grins down upon this river I'm driving through
Casts its form, tidily, to the back.
Sharing with The Sunday Muse for the Wednesday prompt "boketto." While the definition provided (gazing at the distant landscape with an empty mind) seems to refer to contemplation in nature, I find that this sense of openness also occurs when I'm in the car, particularly when it's a longer drive or we're heading somewhere along a new pathway. The piece above was prompted by my choosing an inefficient route on the way to pick up my husband, shortly after realizing I would be late. Traffic and road repairs/widening have picked up around us, lately, and earlier that day I'd found myself startled to be diverted onto a new road that swept up, bypassing the familiar street-level route.
Even if it is the car-infested landscape of an exurb growing with all the charm of a buckling lava flow...this is still my landscape.