Between dusk and dark
at the bottom of Oak Street
the halogen glow of my headlights
falls on a group of figures
jumping
on a mattress in the middle of the road--
flashes of long, tossing hair,
a loud whoop,
laughter.
I smile. Teenage girls.
I turn right on Glenneyre
and drive on
with that sense you get
when a creature
passes in front of your car
so quickly
that you only recognize what you’ve seen
after you see it.
