The Stoplight
by Carl Santoro
I stared at my shoes.
Then I noticed my jeans.
The faded indigo reminded me
of our nightly campfires by the lake;
the Eagles singing out from an iPhone,
October leaves, belly-up, floating by
on the cool mirror of black .
My shoes steaming, resting near flames.
My mind dreaming, staring at the stars.
We agreed I would go back up
to the cabin for another bottle.
The fire needed attention; its' glow was low.
A wolf howled, a horn blared.
I had to go.
The light was green.
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Author's Note
I was wondering if it might have more intimacy and depth if I replace Eagles with Joni Mitchell, and then down below, add the line, "We are stardust
billion year old carbon" right after "My mind dreaming, staring at the stars."
Your thoughts adventurous writers?
My wife says - "Just leave it."
Other stories by Carl Santoro
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Wives are always right. Reminds me of another acid trip, waiting at a light. This must be Flashback Wednesday. *
I like it
I like it, too*
Joni MItchell? Who dropped to Joni MItchell? Listen to your spouse.*
Right. I love Joni but then those are not your words. Choose your own.
As is *