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Catbird Seat
The highway overpass vibrates.
as traffic and wind careen through.
A good view. Suicide starts to sing;
a wind-dervish rattling aluminum wings.
On the branches of peripheral nerves,
small birds stretch plasma necks,
warble high in the catbird seat
of her wall-eyed mind.
An ugly stream of cacophony,
a vapor of petroleum and rubber
bursting into bombinate blooms
that scour her skin.
She breathes it all in,
watching from a crows-nest
that sways leagues above her head.
A rocking-chair of vertigo tips over,
faraway toes curl a flaking concrete.
Her blood singing of endless roads
and this last dead end
at the edge of hope.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
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