Oxbow

Egrets and red-wing blackbirds
populate the oxbow.
Workers at the resort pour from little cabins
in the right turn off the main road.
Work begins, but I am out of work.

I have driven all night with little purpose
except to drive away from those
who would keep me, and now, un-kept,
watch the river bend with earth,
a wide and languorous roll
toward a new direction.

My feet, from hours of petal-press
and brake, sleep on the dash,
my door open. Ideas eddy, swirl.
All these years I have run straight
without taking a turn. 

Jeff Burt lives in Santa Cruz County, California, with his wife and a July abundance of plums. He has contributed to Gold Man Review, Williwaw Journal, Red Wolf Journal, and Brazos River Review. He won the Cold Mountain Review 2017 Poetry Prize. Work can be found at www.jeff-burt.com.