by Chad Reynolds


A famous architect just passed me.
He wore a ponytail
and turned the steering wheel
with one hand. Maybe
he was texting with the other.

I once saw a messenger
riding his bike in a snowstorm
talking on his cell in one hand
carrying a cup of coffee in the other.
This was in Boston.

A hailstorm happened last night in OKC.
On the sidewalk hail pebbles
and fallen mistletoe berries
are indistinguishable.

Do you think the sunrise knows
the time of day?
Isn’t it always morning where it is?

An enormous flock of crows
once spent the night
in my backyard in Cincinnati.
In the morning the sky was black
for hours as they left.

A bus just passed me.
I am still
waving the passengers goodbye.

Chad Reynolds is the author of a poetry chapbook, Victor in the New World (2008). His poems and reviews have appeared in Washington Square, Octopus, Sawbuck, Puerto del Sol, RealPoetik, Verse Daily, Love Among the Ruins, HTML Giant, Free Verse, and elsewhere. He lives near downtown Oklahoma City with his wife and two sons.

Originally published in This Land, Vol. 3, Issue 15. Aug. 1st, 2012.