Asphalt and Consolation by Richard King Perkins II Do not shine the light upon my ship. It is merely wandering on my green seas, undiscovered. I am a few petals short of a rose, though a seed has been embedded. I partner with the same fish, the searchlight now upon my secret: I am an Electra of sorts, playing a bow against her ribs, singing out for her father and until that time, accepting any substitution, as if he will appear before the rapture, O, Holy Father.

Asphalt and Consolation

by Richard King Perkins II

It’s an unfamiliar road I’m driving along.
The only other time I’ll use it will be shortly
but going in the opposite direction.

I want to thank the people who flattened
the globe just a bit to make my travels to you
a little easier.

The men laying tar in August of 1937
had no idea they’d be serving my purpose
so many years in the future.

Imagine my surprise when I arrived
and your house was empty, recently vacated,
knowing, I suppose, that you couldn’t say yes

but couldn’t say no with any more certitude.
A barn cat walks the road’s shoulder with precision.
Heat-shimmers from a century ago

blur the red meadow of exhausted sun.
Nothing is completely in vain; not your abandonment,
not these palpitations of asphalt and consolation.