in my dream the headlights have passed
taking grief whizzing by
winding me breathless into yellow
the warm kind, Gladys used to wear.
Overalls (dusty) asks me, smiling, sunny
how is our Jonny?
Oh he’s quite well I say.
But they already knew
Corn has yellow teeth and smiles
Bites, the grief teasing flesh, only hard
enough to draw a little blood.