Stephen Sandy

(August 2, 1934 / Minneapolis)

Parking Lot - Poem by Stephen Sandy

Hard to believe the racket geese make, squabbling,
holding a confab in the dark--pitch dark to him
padding back to check the lights; yes, the windows
are dark.
But that honking down on the pond, like angry
taxis, stops him: late geese on their way--he thinks--
homeward. But geese are home, wherever. A continent.
Are acting without accomplices; no past
or future to know. That squawky banter is
an irremediable thing.
He makes for his car, the office
shut down. Now someone passes him. They know each other--
each speaks with mild surprise the other's name,
no more. And heads his separate way across the dark.


Comments about Parking Lot by Stephen Sandy

There is no comment submitted by members..



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Read poems about / on: car, dark, future, believe, home



Poem Submitted: Monday, January 20, 2003



[Report Error]