This is why I never
use the freeway on a Friday.
The Quinnipiac River Bridge
is backed up all the way
to exit forty three.

The cars are motionless.
The streetlights are out.
All I can see is blackness,
broken by a line of
red and white beacons,
like beads of colored glass.

Sometimes, you take
the small things
when there's nothing else.

I'm glad I'm not
on that highway tonight.

That's something, 
something left 
to hold.

Return to the Table of Contents.