Bluebird by Guy Yasko

I wake to the rain on metal roof. I want coffee and breakfast, but i’m
not ready to be wet, not yet. I move up to the driver’s seat. Why not? I
check the mirrors. There’s nothing to see; too many raindrops, too many
blackberry bushes.

Dexter’s books are on the dash, some half-open, spine-up. I peek. The
feeling of excitement disappears in the teachings of Don Juan. I fall

When i look up there is a woman at the door. She doesn’t knock. I crank
open the doors. Rain drips between us.

— I was looking for Dexter.

— Not here. Check his place?

— Not there either.

— Well, come in out of the rain at least.


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Filed under Guy Yasko

9 responses to “Bluebird by Guy Yasko

  1. So many possibilities… It’s raining here too. Thaks for your gift of prose.

  2. I love this one, Guy. The “are we in a car” question, and if so, living in one? Which brings up so many other questions.
    And then the woman comes, and in such simple dialogue, we get an entire experience here. Wow. So many possibilities for the imagination to fly.

  3. this had a true slice-of-life quality that is very appealing. nice work!

  4. guy

    Tom, thanks so much.

    Robert, Blue Bird makes buses, but that & having to crank open the door are the only clues that it’s not a car. If it’s a car the invitation to come in out of the rain has a higher charge just because it’s a more intimate space.

    Susan, it meas a lot coming from you. Many thanks.

  5. Impossible but true, you’ve caught a sliver, a moment, that tells so much with saying it. Nice!

  6. I still wonder who Dexter is and what happened here…

  7. Wonderful. Leaves you wanting more, as the best always do.

  8. len kuntz

    this was well written, but i didn’t get it. sorry.

  9. Pingback: Week # 47 – Blind Spot | 52|250 A Year of Flash

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