11-22-2023, 10:00 AM
Each day is another ante
in a game we play, odds
south of the lottery. But
today sitting in morning traffic,
caught just below the crest
of a rolling rise, on my left
a cemetery, headstones steadfast
in their rows, granite-grey against
the slate-grey of a roiling November
sky; first winter storm coming
in from the west. Trees dot
the horizon, some bare boughed,
the oaks holding limbs full glow
rust-red and burnished orange;
leaves lit in light from the low sun.
A scene a photographer would take
off their Rolex and go all in, but
today I get to lay down my cards
arms wide I pull in my winnings
counting and stacking every chip
waiting for traffic to move along.
in a game we play, odds
south of the lottery. But
today sitting in morning traffic,
caught just below the crest
of a rolling rise, on my left
a cemetery, headstones steadfast
in their rows, granite-grey against
the slate-grey of a roiling November
sky; first winter storm coming
in from the west. Trees dot
the horizon, some bare boughed,
the oaks holding limbs full glow
rust-red and burnished orange;
leaves lit in light from the low sun.
A scene a photographer would take
off their Rolex and go all in, but
today I get to lay down my cards
arms wide I pull in my winnings
counting and stacking every chip
waiting for traffic to move along.