March’s balanced sun,
and over a dashboard map
a bald orchard freckling white,
a subtle scent resuming
the countryside contours,
a windborne whiff of apple,
inebriates the tanked-
up Maverick tracing the idling
asphalt which tethers city
to city, a fixed intent
bewildering through this country
of white scent, an everywhere
to which his driven brain’s
alacritous abandon
assents, as morning’s drudge
befuddled amid a freedom
of greening lawns, sky new-blue
(having just quit his job)
loses himself in choice:
wishes scatter like pollen,
every mood renews.
Carey Jobe is a retired attorney who most recently worked as a federal administrative law judge. Prior to starting his legal career, he was a classical student specializing in Latin and Greek literature. He served in the army for three years in Germany and has traveled widely. He attributes his love for writing poetry to drinking from the Castalian Spring at Delphi during a trip to Greece.