Our closer was always
one I'd written in college
with a line about
hawks perched beside highways
regardless of one's car company.
Whenever my guitar broke
it was during that song.
Today on my ride home
a "help truck"
sponsored by an insurance firm
idled in front of a wounded red-tailed
that was lying in the shoulder
of the battle-worn pavement.
It was the noblest act of humanity
I'd seen in those fifteen years.
Currently reading:
"The Crossing" by Cormac McCarthy.
