The road was a river, or could have been
the way the rain danced over pot-holed tar
and glittered under indifferent street lamps.
I sat beneath naked trees, jack-knifed limbs
sighing in the night. I waited for love, lust or drugs.
A stranger in a tweed suit, a dog without an owner,
a miracle or a spaceship.
Charles Dutka is a poet and writer who lives and works in Connecticut and is currently assembling his first collection, Temporarily Fatal. Charles has been writing daily since high school and enjoys drawing inspiration from his job as the Operations Manager for a local health food store. You can see more of his work on his website.