Sunday In The Hills by Yash Seyedbagheri

a white truck roars up a hill

and then another, this one black

lights break through the snow

trucks whooshing past

laughter and invectives break the sky

*

license plates from hidden counties

whipping past

with Bud Lights

armpits and stale feet

and clouds billowing in your exhausted face

*

they disappear around a bend and another bend

the roar eaten by the pines

flakes flutter

growing

like ballerinas in rehearsal

*

the sky is still

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