Installment 15 features two poems by Eileen Hugo. Both pieces travel in transitory directions and offer quick but lingering glimpses into acts that are only supposed to last for a short time.
Car Kissing in the Rain
Rain drops made circles and moved down
the windows in small rivers that branched
out and down to the hood of the car
heavy rain drummed the roof and our pulses
it was steamy outside and in
with the curtain drawn passions escalated
but this was car kissing nothing more
From the car window I see the road
that leaves this frigid town.
It only goes south
past one school,
one store with a gas pump
and one dingy church.
Curls of acrid smoke
bunch into a dark haze
that stays trapped above
your cliche house.
Porch railing broken
one car on blocks surrounded by
scattered remains of the stand-ins
you have used up.
I don’t see you when I pass by
I wave anyway.
My name is Eileen Hugo and I am a poet. I am retired and doing all the things I love. I have been published in the anthologies Southern Breezes and The Baby Boomer Birthright, and most recently The Taste Of Ink, a collaboration of poets from Mid-Coast Maine. I also served time as the Poetry Editor for The Houston Literary Review. In April of 2015 my book Not Too Far was published.