After untitled photograph by Chuck Hartman

Two bare maples flanking deep-cracked

asphalt — the scene forever cortexed: long

ago a fifty-eight Rambler, whiskey lost

in the frozen Jersey emptiness, aiming

to slide between those two pillars, crashed

hard against the skyreaching one on the right.

They stand there still: winterdeadened barren

thick-skinned creatures, feathering upward, ever

more narrow, till nearly lost against gray clouds.

Asphalt pebbles litter the short-mown roadside

weeds, but will not kill them. The road fades

into distance, to a dense black thicket.

Worrell studied literature and philosophy at Union College. His poems have appeared in U.S. 1, Mad Poets Review, Wild River Review, and Fox Chase Review (autumn 2009). He has performed poems at Chris’ Jazz Cafe, Cornelia Street Cafe, and Cafe Improv.

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