Skip to content

Meditating in the back

of Jack's green Volkswagen

rolling along Highway 2

east of Paris

I'm conscious only of the motion

of things speeding against me

on both sides of my head,

eyes closed, and a sudden braking

and a breaking of that dream.

I'm in a moving car among green hills

and cow grazings of the world,

motels, gas stations of Ontario

and a dog slowly walking across

into our speeding lane, a black dog,

and in tall grass at roadside, a boy,

waving his arms, screaming.

Slow Black Dog

David W. McFadden

More Poetry Readings

Layli Long Soldier