Poetry By Kay White Drew

Nic McPhee CC




 NIGHT TRAFFIC

When the wind comes from the south, trucks & cars
miles away sound like they’re right outside
the open window, sliding under sleep. Dreams ride
the tires’ high whine and the growl of the gears.
A caravan of commerce under the stars,
where industry and sleep-hunger collide.
Those weary night-drivers waver astride
their pedals, longing for truck-stops & bars. 

The harsh night music awakens me at last.
Cacophony cuts short my peaceful slumber,
evoking scenes and feelings from the past.
Then the future sneaks in, pulls my mind asunder:
How much time left? When death comes, how fast?
Staring stark at the ceiling-shadows, I wonder.




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Kay White Drew is a retired neonatal physician who has published some essays and a few poems, and has a memoir slated to be published in summer 2024. She lives in Maryland with her husband and enjoys long walks, travel (in moderation), and weekly video chats with her three millennial daughters. www.kaywhitedrew.com