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By the New Freeway

Monday early blowing over
a patch or two of dawn.
The garbage man is rolling,
and those who woke up dark
are one their way somewhere.
This town of eighteen thousand
is in the sweetest spot right now.
The worst parts of the past are past.
Today smells just like money.
Big old oaks and brick facades,
and folks who still can walk to work
have no idea what will happen next.

—
Rick McKenzie’s work has appeared in The Yale Review, Mantis, The Round, Pearl, Talking River, and other literary magazines. He taught preschool for many years, then worked as a park ranger. He enjoys all kinds of outdoor activities.

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