by Keith Woodruff

Delivery Driver

Her car's always in bloom;
suds of red & white
balloons foam up inside
& sway
like the heads of drunks
being taxied home as she
turns a corner, balled
like a fist at the wheel,
while fronds of flowering plants
reach constantly over
the backseat & tap, tap
her on the shoulder as if to say turn here, turn here.

-Reprinted from Tar River Poetry, vol. 34, no.2, 1995 by permission of the poet.