Somewhere in Heaven,
where everything’s liquid,
a trucker, hauling windows, crashes.
The debris showers Newark, DE,
beats my cold hands red,
stings me through my clothes,
strips the trees naked
and offers them dark, wet coats
they can’t refuse.
Dead leaves freckle my driveway.
Squirrels, now scared gray statues,
hide under my back porch.
My cigarette glimmers for three puffs
before it becomes a noodle.
A train rages against the rain
on it’s way to deliver Florida
oranges to somewhere north,
where folks are shivering
in white blankets.
Andrew Graney was born and raised in Wilmington, DE. His work has recently appeared in The Main Street Journal at the University of Delaware, and The Road Not Taken: A Journal of Formal Poetry.