The Slick Black Snake, That Was The Highway

Benjamin turned, walked away from the headlights and carnage.

Recent memories of the violence; cycloned around his head, reflections seeking repose.

Finally he filed them away.

All except the one:

the final one.

He bided his time and at the bridge, numbly hurled the tire iron in the Schuylkill and walked on.


La Playa

At the table, I gaze into her soul.

She watches waves.

Awkwardly, we pick at our lunch, a shared Panini, warm cheese oozing.

Her eyes change. She’s decided,

“Let’s go back,” she suggests, “I want more than just sustenance.”