edge of the river at night
The stoplight blinks.
Rain runs in rivulets across the pavement,
downhill. Slanting towards the drenched
earth, the eventual eternal grave.
And yellow puddles in shining smears,
reflections in the water, runny
memories of the streetlamps up above.
A concrete slab overlooks the river,
with two hands set firmly on the
steel railing, holding on.
Unwilling to depart.
The gurgle of an engine, sputtering.
Turning over and over and over
like their stomach. They watch the
car choke, watch the steam rising
from the exhaust pipe.
Rain has soaked them to the bone,
the car roars and the stoplight
floods the puddles with streaks of
red light. It pulls away, splashing
water, ignoring the light, taking
the sound with it.
Silent, as the reflections of the
night sky blur into the ground,
into the river, into their very
soul. Night becomes the air
becomes their clothes, hands,
neck. They try to keep their
head above the surface as the
unending night slips into a
watery reflection of blackness