(back to Bode
     Hall home)

Buckle



tiny
droplets gather
dance
shudder
  meld, hold hands
   take a deep breath

   together

 and

        with a silent moist yell

  tumble 
         shreiking

at vapor 


      trail 


            speed

                     down


                 through

   buffeting winds

    toward the 

          inevitable

            frosty
      weed-strewn
  embankment
just beyond a
              cracked
jersey barrier

  where nestle dozens of its kin
  rippling playfully in the cool
  wet breezes glinting on chrome
  finish of a gently penduluming
  seat belt buckle drawn up near
  his own blood-specked headrest
        spatter softly off the bent
                                           windshield
                                        wiper
                         to a waiting grateful patch of clover
                                                 and soak into the earth
                                                   with a deep
                                                    contented
                                                    sigh.



-skyler, March 2001