High Horse

By Kevin Hegyi

The Slow Wave from Men in Speedboats

from a quarter mile 
you can feel his grin
shimmer

it’s the same kind of grin
worn by the same kind of man
who drives corvettes

the same kind of grin 
worn in the same kind of way
as if showcased in every 
speedboat parade

terrified 
he runs from skinny dippers
of skin and smiling faces 

and terrified
he runs from scarlet lips
asking him everything
about his finances





				Los Osos Valley Road 
		
		The rainbow death
				                  of the squall
			                  lets
		suckling bugs
			                  resume
		                                       their dreams 
		            of necks		
			                 and wine 	
               and timid rodents
			                      resume
					                   their gaze
                                             through wet
					                          dripping
						                                 wisteria 
                             		 and 
                                                to murders of crows 
               now disturbed 
                                         the redtail screams
               it’s latest prize
		                        and against 
                                                            the fading mauve
                                                of evening 
                            the vultures 
                                                  are slow
					                         to dry
                   hoodless
		                  they sag 
				                and sag





Cross Country Waffle Iron

underneath the seat 
of my friends old ford
lives a heavy 
aged 
waffle iron

he uses it 
to press flowers
on his ways 
across America

when I called him last 
he had found 
roses in New York
dogwoods in the Carolinas
goldenrods in Kentucky
laurels in Connecticut
camellias in Alabama
blue bonnets in Texas
and Syringas in Idaho

he said that when he pressed them
they all got stuck
in the grooves
of the iron 
so all his flowers
were pressed there 
instead 
one 
on top
or next to
or around
the other 

when he arrived 
in South Dakota 
he said 
he couldn’t find much
and instead 
tied a dead 
sunflower 
about his neck 
and drove on 

hoping to find some columbines
laughing with their tongues 
exposed 

Kevin Hegyi is a musician and writer residing in Nashville, TN. His work focuses on illuminating moments of hesitation, leaning into curiosity, and preserving the seemingly mundane acts of aerial, terrestrial, and arboreal inhabitants.