Two Hikers

 

Late afternoon, on a gray January day,

Our hands stuffed into pockets

As fingers escape the cold

Our noses can't,

We explore some hills and valleys

Above a gray and rumpled bay.

Fog horns spill the chill

With eerie moans to water travelers.

A gusty wind arrives

Like an undesired guest,

And we prowl the trails guardedly,

Inventing perils and fearful stories,

As we peer into bygone bunkers

And toss stones into

Long forgotten shafts.

We watch a painting phantom

Wipe the City away.

Now, an unfamiliar sun,

Deprived of color,

Squeezes a luminescent glow

Through the frostbitten sky

As it retreats on a westward journey,

And we retreat to the warmth

Of a heater in a gray Mazda.

 

 

Barbara Benjamin

Free Verse

BBP124