Drive By Poem by Brett Rogers

A rusted-sounding Cadillac or Impala
Whizzed then rumbled
From stop sign to openness,
Southbound through my 10th St. neighborhood.
I thought there might be gunshots
(Surreal calm
Crescent moon
West Central Wisconsin)
As I, alone, stood -
Stepped out my cigarette,
Offered my back to the street,
And entered through my apartment door,
Pausing at least a heavy breath or two,
As the car clicked parallel.