November
The pavement, streaked
Blood red and brown
Shards and moist bits scattered about
Cars drive through
Unseen, uncaring
Grinding to a paste
Smearing across the roadway
Nothing identifiable remain
Only streaks and smears
Waiting for a November rain to wash it away
Waiting for it to happen again
Some leaves have yet to fall
[“Motorcycle poetry”: imagery that comes to me and percolates into poetry while I am riding.]
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