Main Street, from the Water Tower
by Nick Norwood

A scree of gravel patinas the asphalt.
From the corner, the town’s closed-down hardware,
grocery, Laundromat, car wash, drug store,
dry goods, pool hall, bank, feed-and-seed, car lot,
beauty parlor. In the fifty-odd slots,
a pale green Chevy half-ton four-by-four
from the eighties, a white Buick two-door
with black-mud sluicings up the fender skirts
and quarter panels. A hapless dog. The sun
at ten o’clock throwing hard, boxed shadows
that lean and stretch like something falling down
across the cracks in the duct-taped windows.
But things could be worse: living in Dallas,
Houston, or twelve miles up the road, in Paris.

Copyright 2023 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.