CHRISTIAN PEET

Editor back-issues, poetry

Angle of Repose

In the red light of highway protocol
All traffic stalled

A burnished wreck for sunset
Time to pause, as the book says, time to reflect.

Words come so easy till we know their source
And find it wanting-

In need of sympathy or recompense
Say, a fat check

For the fat man stricken in the road
Now out of body, now at the plastic faux pearl gates

Never having seen the equally fat toad
That sits in loam and gravel

Under the guardrail.
Sits. And waits.

Waits for the green light
Of understanding-nothing-being

The toad’s just a toad
And the fat man is dead.

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