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GREY/GRAY

Cheryl A. Townsend

There was a mist
this morning
as I drove into this poem
Drove into a melancholy
just a tad over the
speed limit
I was in no hurry
Just habit
Driving fast
The hurry up&wait
as I still do
Wait
A lot can happen in the fog
Police with radar
Crossing animals
Memories
All are potentially
dangerous
My reflexes are quick
I can avoid
tickets and death
But this humid condition
clouds my vision
Hinders my getting
where I need to go
and I slow slightly
to wipe the dampness
from my cheek

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