Trish Saunders

HERE, BLUE

Nine nights now, you have dreamed 
of your first great love—
a ‘67 Dodge Dart
vintage blue with
wing windows,
motoring down
American highways
Seattle to D.C.
a job on the Hill
that you’re going to hate
though you don’t intuit it then.
Highway patrolman raps
on the window glass, smiles,
“this will be a warning only”
then fades to a lone pigeon
with blue-gray wings
wide awake, like you are now.





Red Blouse 

Maybe you are in a large city right now
wearing a red blouse. 

Shiny Happy People sings through your car radio.

Clap along, if you can still feel your hands
and no one has pinned your mittens
to your coat.

Watch a boy in the car ahead
release a Butterfingers
candy wrapper out the window.

For now, this is enough.
Happiness, arrived.  

(Portions of this poem first appeared in Open Arts Forum)