We Drive The Rattling Yellow Pickup

By Lynn Finger

We drive the rattling yellow pickup
to the river, seek shade of pine,
oak. Your guitar slung on your
back. You packed cheesecake,
& I, the server/poet you met at a wake,

bring broccoli crowns, cola. We bring each other.
We used to hold hands before we were
skeletons. Rain clouds hover
at the throat of mountains. We drive

to water, stop at the sandy bank. Settle on the
tailgate, we down a few cokes while dark
clouds move grey on grey
mosaics across the whole sky o’clock.

We unfold like kite or warbler might by reeds
& rough grasses, human cacophony behind.
Held calm where prehistoric
turtles sunned, & loblolly pines

shift in wind. We sift the light, you say it’s too late,
we’re already shadows & needed at
another wake–for us, for
everyone. We finish cheesecake.

If the river flowed only once a year we would
be drunk on the whole expanse of it,
we are the riff in this song,
we gulp birds & frogs & cattails,
because here we are, this is the day.

Lynn Finger’s poetry has appeared in Night Music Journal, Ekphrastic Review, Daily Drunk, 8Poems, Perhappened, and is forthcoming in Drunk Monkeys. Lynn is an editor at Harpy Hybrid Review and works with a group that mentors writers in prison.


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