By Bryan Gentry
The famine came to a close.
The serpent, stuffed, overflowed,
engorged til its arteries
slowed quickly to a freeze.
The pandemic only paused,
but the city opened jaws
and swallowed us all again
til it choked on forgotten din.
The road backed up as two cars
found their Carolina Cards
would not open Senate's gate.
The rest of us would have to wait.
Two cars pulled off to the side,
bent fender and battered pride;
A truck churning concrete stalled
As foremen pushed a dead car.
A city’s not like a snake,
which can eat its weight, then wait
more than a week before it eats.
Tomorrow, we will repeat.