Haruah

 

Running Signals

Ray Succre

Poetry
Literary



A man enters the crosswalk

and a three-trailer maxi,

a semi-truck, hurtles by him,

through his crosswalk,

running the ominous red

but nothing happens;


it is incredible.


My mother ran a red light once;

there were cars strewn about

like a string of bells fallen off

a Christmas tree.


The man crosses, breathing

its exhaust, and refuses

the imperative to shake.




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Copyright 2008, Ray Succre. All rights reserved.

Ray Succre currently lives on the southern Oregon coast with his wife and baby son.  He has been published in Aesthetica, Small Spiral Notebook, and Rock Salt Plum, as well as in numerous others across as many countries.  He tries hard.

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