Thursday, March 24, 2011

A Yield Poem



ELIZABETH BECK

Traffic Light

She says she does not know which way to turn, even though she’s been at this intersection before.
His frustration mounts as he yearns to reach across and smack her,
as if a physical blow would restore her memories.
Instead he kisses her
until her lips bruise.
Shewantstokillhimandfuckhimallatthesametime.
He refuses
to tell her which way to turn, so she yields to her fury and drives
through the traffic light, brushing her hair away from her face
the wind blows through the car
his anger at her indecision as he knows they will have to turn around,
knows he should have just told her which way to turn.
Hewantstokillherandfuckherallatthesametime.
She accelerates and reaches for the knob of the radio, searching for static, which she turns up.
He merely grimaces, withholding the anger she seeks; he will not listen.
She would not ask.

No comments:

Post a Comment