Poetry
Empty driveway
The morning sky is dead, the color of corpse gray
Any other day would not matter
Today, a solemn observence of loss, disunion and solitude
The echoes of yesterday crescendo in my head like war drums on the eve of battle
Self-preservation cradles cynicism like a pampered newborn nursing at the bosom of resentment
Empty driveway
I crusade through silent streets in search of Norman Rockwell
Envy steals my breath away as random houses, pulsing with life, parade across my windshield like an old slide-show
I imagine silver haired matrons serving mouth-watering bowls of delectable fare
Crowded rooms and card tables adorned with fervent faces and lucid smiles, chiseling memories upon granite pages
Empty driveway
I am invisible, sliding along a vacuous roadway, looking for my reflection
The drone of the motor keeps my sadness at bay, like hounds waiting for a naked moon to disrobe its last wispy cloud
I remember Iowa, sun drenched laughter bathed in the celebration of lineage
Stock and Tribe, House and Clan
I'm home now
Fixed on my neighbors wealthy lane
Across my
Empty driveway
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