The Red Pump

 Lightning rumbles through this afternoon’s dream,

  the day’s end crawls forward into

 gauzy pink and grey.

  Awake?  Asleep?

  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