At 3 a.m., a
streetlight rests mortally wounded by the side of a quiet, rain-dampened
boulevard. Ripped from the concrete in which it stood vigil for so many years,
its stoic form lies silently tethered by a red wire and two splintered bolts. A
casual passerby moves it to wet grasses; its fragments kicked curbside by a
cowboy boot.
Tomorrow they will come to clean up the shards of glass and twisted metal. But tonight, its unblinking eyes stare upward into a star-filled sky watching satellites
streak distantly.
Tomorrow they will come to clean up the shards of glass and twisted metal. But tonight, its unblinking eyes stare upward into a star-filled sky watching satellites
streak distantly.
Korliss Sewer
enjoys writing about off-beat topics while watching off-beat people doing
off-beat things.
Publishing
credits include: BlazeVOX, SubtleTea,
Orange Room Review, amongst a few others.
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