Steve Klepetar, Winter 2017

Two Poems by Steve Klepetar

Night Ride, NYC
Steve Klepetar

I was seven or eight, riding at night in someone’s car
over a bridge strung with lights,
the Whitestone or Throgs Neck, and we seemed
to be standing still
as the bridge slid past, pillar after pillar,
until my eyes blurred. My identity seemed to slip away

and I repeated my name to myself, silently, over
and over, until those words
meant nothing. Night loomed above, and lights Continue reading “Steve Klepetar, Winter 2017”

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