The Red Pump
Lightning rumbles through this afternoon’s dream,
the day’s end crawls forward into
gauzy pink and grey.
Mist envelopes a patchwork of white bands
And yellow stripes
A wet rooster prowls this gritty asphalt
nearby red pumps primed and ready
to leave you flush for a price
and so it seems more the nightmare
For in a dream there is peace until dawn,
yet all dreams end.
Tommorow at daylight, when the cock crows
the war begins anew.
author: e mchugh