gaze beyond the bridges
as the early evening sun
dips into the tail
of the Ohio river
two cloud-making smoke stacks
puff away
a rippled reflection of it all
in the iridescent flow
smell of fried fish
wafts up
from the fast-food joint
across the parking lot
mixes in
with the sweet gasoline
of exhaust fumes
rumbling out of tail pipes
rattle of the cart wheels
across scattered gravel
drowns out voices
oil drips make
pavement-puddle rainbows
after cars pull out
crickets and frogs
hide the highway noise
once the sun disappears
we chase the runaways
laugh as they pick up speed
ride them
when the bosses aren’t looking
Ma’am, I’ll take that.
Jason Melvin is a father, husband, grandfather, high school soccer coach, and metals processing center supervisor, who lives just outside of Pittsburgh.