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Big Sur S
l
i
d
e Poem
Curvy cli
ff
s r
i o
d a
e d
r
o
a
d
Around a corner
a line of cars
A green Ford pick-up truck
another bug a BMW a VW van a red
Cadillac
a Woody with boards in racks on top
a '56 Chevy two-toned white
over powder blue
a Pontiac a Malibu another bug
a road maintenance truck blocking the road
a couple of guys holding shovels
standing in the road covered
with dirt and rocks and shrubs from a slide.
“How long do you think we’ll have to sit here?” Susan asks.
I stop the engine, and we get out and walk to the edge of the cliff. Early morning waves dark green still in shadow. A fishing trawler crawls slowly along a slide of smoke wavy glass wake.
We sit on the edge of the cliff and watch the swells slide toward the rocky beach a hundred feet below.
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The Coming of the Toads 