The 47 Seconds Between NY and LA
(The Flash)
by Jason Mott

-for Daniel

Mrs. Johnson’s Chihuahua slipping
his leash; the mailman reaching
for mace; a woman starting
her car; a girl holding
her father’s hand, waiting                                     :02
to cross the street; a shoe falling
from a window; a hummingbird crossing
the interstate; a driver wishing
he would not hit the hummingbird;
a bird deposited in Harrisburg;                             :05
raindrops in Tennessee; an old man
smoking on his front porch
in Kentucky, whispering, “Wait.”                          :09
I wait. I wait.
Licking his lips,
he says, “She left me.”
He says, “They all left me.”
He says, “I fathered six
children. And now they’re all                                :19
gone. Now it’s just me
and the wind and no one stops
to say hello.” He licks his lips.
He says, “I bought a new
shirt. He pinches his blue flannel                          :28
between chop stick fingers.
He wets his mouth,
takes a breath for words, says
“Do you like it?”
He stares at me. He waits
for me to leave. He waits                                       :35
and I wait with him.
In the distance, the wind
is a roaring crowd
of canned applause living
in the trees. The man says,                                     :39
“No one comes to sit with me
anymore.” He rocks
in his chair, closes his eyes,
falls into a light sleep. I whisper
in the fabric of his dreams,
“I sit with everyone.”                                               :42
The flat highway of Nebraska;
a hotrodder spinning wheels;
smog valley; silicone city;
the ocean swallowing
the sun; licking my lips, I hold my breath,
say nothing and hope he hears me.                          :47

Jason Mott recently finished his MFA in Poetry at the University of North Carolina at Wilmington. He has been published in various journals, including The Kakalak Anthology of NC Poets, The Thomas Wolfe Review and Measure.    

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