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.