Red robin preening in the road,
pacing in a slight impression,
my front driver side wheel careens your way.
I see you, but I do not brake.
We have a deal, a covenant
unbreakable, perpetual as evolution.
You may stand in the street, sipping
welled rain, slurping a worm or two.
I may drive these highways
without slowing, without swerving,
sipping an americano, singing along
to a Counting Crows song of my choosing.
The terms require you to flit away, or hop,
as you prefer, before my tire might make
a bony wind chime of your head, before
I might wing you, so to speak.
I have trusted in that promise,
put my faith in our pact.
Today, old friend, what happened?
Eric Lochridge is the author of three chapbooks: Born-Again Death Wish, Real Boy Blues, and Father’s Curse. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Slipstream, DIAGRAM, Mojave Heart Review, Hawaii Pacific Review, and many others, as well as anthologies such as WA 129 and Beloved on the Earth. He lives in Bellingham, Washington. Find him on Twitter @ericedits.