Poetry - Issue 03 | February 2009

Four Poems by Amy MacLennan


Runaway Truck Ramp

It’s your last chance. You checked
your brakes at the stop,
but still they failed.
The sluggish morning
climbing a mountain at twenty,
twenty-five—gone
when you crested,
and now the needle arcs high
across big numbers. It’s all
getting away from you. The truck
gunning down the ‘state,
pine trees whipping by.
Horn blasts drowning your heart.
You flash on a slip of chocks
beneath wheels at the dock,
but all you feel is mean physics
while a ramp waits for you
to hit those rocks,
make the gravel fly,
like love, like ruin.

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About the author

Amy MacLennan loves traveling to places like Andorra, Liechtenstein, Luxembourg and Talent, Oregon (which has the best curried tuna salad sandwich ever). Amy’s work has been published or is forthcoming in Cimarron Review, Folio, Hayden’s Ferry ReviewLinebreak, Pearl, Rattle and River Styx. Her poems are forthcoming in the anthologies Not a Muse and Eating Her Wedding Dress: A Collection of Clothing Poems.

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