| 7th and 19th by Jeff Loken The moon has just guzzled an energy drink and he shines his wide eye down upon the street, seventh avenue bridge, which crests as I drive. My path is illuminated, leading me to the intersection of doom, and I think of all the familiar places I would meet, the tractor manufacturer, a field I've always wanted to run around on, a sea of run down residential shacks, and a small white church like a black crucifix on a beach amidst the grime and smog of the warehouses, and then I am there and I am low on gas. The ticker of the pump clicks away and all the memories of that day creep up. I reach for them the way old widows reach for spouses, staring ominously at the paint and glass factory across the street, thinking of how it looked that day, how she looked, her face just above the hood of my car, a last sunset in her eyes, but thank God for side impact doors. My tie flaps against the blue oxford shirt now frequenting my attire, foreign in the crust of the roughed-up, lonely gas station inlet. A moment changes more than mere bedroom drawers. |
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© 2007 prickofthespindle.com |
Jeff Loken is a recent graduate of North Dakota State University in Fargo |