michael a griffith

2:24 a.m. by Michael A. Griffith

crossing
.
2:24 a.m.
.
Train blurs going past
    2:24 on my radio’s green screen
night darkness except the cross-arms’
    red lights flashing
the sound  the strobe  the noise
    of   motion as I sit  still
warning bell clanging   still
    coming home from O’Keef’s
the noise thrumming   thunder over
    Hotel California — my head bobs in time
my head bobs in time my head bobs
.
                                    I see a face.
.
    There’s a small face  bright
bright  a flash as the long train passes   still passing
    the yellow cars maroon cars graffitied cars pass
.
    Eyes meet   he sees me  he sees
as the high note of the guitar solo rings
    to meet the wailing bell
.
Sees the truck now behind me   headlights
    glare in my rearview   engine loud as the train
train now done and the gate arms rise
    high-beams me and revs  engine heat like
monster’s breath    See
    the driver’s arm thrust  waving  long
shouts   horn blaring
    so I go
drive into the eyes
still there
. 

Griffith Photo (1)Michael A. Griffith began writing poetry while recovering from a disability-causing injury. Three chapbooks: Bloodline (Soma Publishing), Exposed (Hidden Constellation Press), and New Paths to Eden (Kelsay Books). He lives near Princeton, NJ.

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