Pigeons in Sleet

This is only the elements against us.
We rose early. We will get there late.
We woke to the sounds of our neighbors swearing.
Together we shocked our cars into being,
scarred the snow before tires and doors.
We have weighed ourselves down
with trunks of cat litter, debated the highway or backroads,
got stuck. When we slid, we nodded I am out of control.
We steered into skids and over-corrected.
We have come to depend on our winches and chains
while beside the road in a copse of spruce
the slushed doves spread their frozen wings.
And the God of dirty birds belongs to all of us.
And eventually, we get where we are going.

Copyright © 2003 Lissa Warren All rights reserved
from Black Warrior Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission