Peter Chapman Poetry

the small sound

yesterday I walked to the garage to get my van,
which was fitted with a new radiator,
thinking: this Florida summer ain't so bad

the road was car noises and truck noises,
and the heat had its sound,
the hard yellow for everything

something passed as I walked and looked ahead,
down a little
and going by a sign stuck in the ground
the sound smacked off with a little bounce
like an expression unrelated to the day–
outside it, you might say

I thought, walking on
how to write this, to honor its renown