Crepuscular Commuter
By Richard Fein

The gray mental hospital always looms.
It's in my face each morning driving to work.
It remains in the back of my mind each evening leaving work.
It's always on my way. It's always in my way.
Any detour takes me miles away and would make me late.
Mornings:
Sometimes I see faces in the windows.
Sometimes I see no faces at all.
Sometimes I see someone in handcuffs being pushed in.
Sometimes I see someone in a Thorazine daze being escorted out.
Always I see my approaching car reflected in its windows.
Evenings:
I see it all again when I look through my rearview mirror.
And often I see a hand sticking out of the highest window,
just a hand waving.

Richard Fein was a finalist in The 2004 Center for Book Arts Chapbook Competition. He has been published in many web and print journals such as Southern Review, Morpo Review, Oregon East Southern Humanities Review Touchstone, Windsor Review, Maverick, Parnassus Literary Review, Small Pond, Kansas Quarterly, Blue Unicorn, Exquisite Corpse, Terrain and many others. He also has an interest in digital photography and has published many of his photos. Samples can be found on http://www.pbase.com/bardofbyte photo album.

© 2007 prickofthespindle.com