and leaves, swirls of gold and red—
and I’m on a slow train
through Lorraine in October, Bob and I
on three-day passes, in civvies, armed
with Pentaxes and bandoliers of film, his wife
Linda with her green eyes and Michelin Guide,
the three of us calling for sun to break
the thick-spun sky, though we cozy up to gray,
the yellow-damp fire of beech and larch
along the tracks, the lulling of wheels on rails,
the thought of the bistro next to Gare de Metz-Ville
where, over beer and kirsch, baguettes
and steaming soup, we’ll swear an oath to drift
forever, to leave behind all regret.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 26, Issue 4.
Justin Hunt grew up in rural Kansas and lives in Charlotte, NC. His work has won several awards and appears in a wide range of publications in the U.S., Ireland and the U.K., including, among others, Barrow Street, Five Points, Michigan Quarterly Review, New Ohio Review, The Journal, Solstice, Arts & Letters, Cloudbank, The Florida Review, Bellingham Review, Terrain.org, Southword and The Bridport Prize Anthology. He is currently assembling a debut poetry collection.
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