The Sound Drivers

Like red ribbons flying through the air


First one and then another and another

The sound is fast and urgent


Time is at stake


Life could be lost

I don’t know a thing about it.


But the scream and the pitch, belong to me


I never see the hulking beast that rides in from the east


At 3 am in the morning

To be fed upon my garbage


It slowly lurches and groans down the street for more


But the bang and the rattle belong to me


The engines race to get some place

I know neither the face, nor the destinations


I only know the whirl of their speed belongs to me.


The tick of my clock

The chirping of the birds


The occasional clack of the furnace


They all belong to me.


They rise and fall until they are nothing at all.

I fall back into sleep.


Linda Morgan Smith, USA

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