Late Rain

— Leslie Hoffman

Red and Yellow flash
Swirl, blinds
Bleeds into my senses.

A voice on the phone
Said this is the spot
Just past the bend
In the road.
The damp road.
The slippery road.

Where’s my son?
My baby boy…
Two weeks from sixteen.

Red, now, only Red
(Swirls, blinds
Bleeds into my memory)
On the road.
The damp road.
The skid-marked road.

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