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Double Yellow
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Double Yellow

Small Branches Poetry



He'd made good time since midnight

Highway 30 humming under eighteen wheels.

Another town, another off-ramp lizard

left red in tail lights.

She'd been a tasty brunette

whose hazel-flecked eyes roamed

as his grunts filled the cab.  The splatter

of sweat, the sticky release easily swiped

clean with lemon-scented towelettes

from the Flying J just across the state line.

Strawberry gloss was left sweet on his tongue

as she climbed out, twenty dollars

crumpled in the moist grip of her palm.

The sun's coming up.  Seven hours down now,

one more to go to the red brick,

blue front door, the wife's geraniums

blaze white in the dawn.

First Published at, Sept. 2001