Plot

by Sharon Black

Single-track roads, potholes,
conflicting street signs, litter
like punctuation on the verge,
a freezer in the boot
that thumps each time we take a corner.

A narrow bridge. 
A street lamp standing in a yellow pool. 
A woman at a window 
no one sees but me.

I know this scene.
I think this line and every line springs from this 
deer, a female roe, suddenly at 
the railing, rising unsteadily 
on shining cloven hooves.