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Rush-Hour Sunset

By Stacy A. Teicher / March 28, 1996



What kind of law lets loose

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the light - gives character to cloud?

With urgency I've come to stand

here on this concrete island

with rush hour zooming

right and left.

Above the trees and wires

the window's promise

widens, yes, but does not wait.

Coral coasts.

There's a little boasting

in my cricked-neck smile

at having left the pantyhose

behind,

soaking in the sink,

to come and see the sun's finale.

The grander suds

must cleanse the palette

of the sky, make way for night.

Soon dawn will pull

the cars the other way,

to mark another day

of sometimes

forgetting

to look up.