Keeping Pace

I chambered July into my gun.
A woman stopped her bicycle, twisted to look west.
Another wrote the word monsoon on the blue horizon.
Together they combed the sky for clouds trying to glean rain.

My gun was a starter’s pistol.
The bicyclist reached the dissipating Rio Grande.
The turbulent heat ignored the night’s blanket of darkness.
The city lights went black unable to condition enough interiors.

My gun barked at the sky.
A second bicyclist arrived from the Pacific.
A roiling gray cloud on a miles long string tailed her bicycle.
A broken comb-tooth popped the cloud over Central & Fourth.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s