by Bruce Morton

At the corner
Of the Belleville Pike
And Schuyler Avenue
The red neon horse
Winged it, immobile,
Fueled by vapors,
Rare gas, and imagination,
Filling empty tanks.
Leaving us exhausted.
Yet there, up there,
Pegasus reared large
Challenging chimeras
Rearing up as they cruised
By the cemetery across
The street, plotted pasture
With its lush green grass,
Stones, shaded memory,
And fence, wrought iron.
The black limousines
Never failed to pull up
And refuel.


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