Categories
My Poetry Poetry

Clomping Down The Stairs (Winter Love Poem #1)

http://s3.reutersmedia.net/resources/r/?m=02&d=20070220&t=2&i=396186&w=460&fh=&fw=&ll=&pl=&r=396186

Clomping down the stairs,
No strength to glance back again
Steel storm door hissing closed
Lug-soled boots bang torden!
On the dry pine treads.
Yank on a soft scarf, spun around,
Teeth crack against teeth
Tongues hungry tentacles,
Roots seeking soil,
It’s snowing hard outside, blowing
Sideways, windows clatter
Your thigh insisting between mine,
Cold hands beneath your sweater
Growl when you flinch and shriek
thumbs forward, Fingers pressed
into the soft of your back
clench your hips,
a whisper:
I’ll drive.

Categories
Short/Micro/Flash Fiction

An Hour From Boise (another excerpt from an abandoned story)

Motorcycle_CopThere’s this pit of the stomach feeling, I know you know it, when you blaze over the crest of a slope on the highway with the Pogues blaring Streams of Whiskey from a dozen speakers and that big block Chevy 454 thundering backup, and the unmistakable profile of a Ford Police Interceptor crouches on the median like a sullen lion. There’s no time to brake, no place to go, the speedo jiggling somewhere north of ninety.  You reel it in causally, will he buy it that the beast got away from you—and your normally grandmother-like driving—and what about those hippie-dippy girls in the backseat, stinking of patchouli and peanut butter.  The pretty one, the one with the freckles in her cleavage and the ice blue eyes, is snoring like a drunk.  It’s likely she is, in fact, still drunk—and god knows what else.  You don’t even want to know what she’s got in her purse, or if she’s got a prescription for that, and if so, what for?  Maybe it won’t even matter.