The gazelles

speed by in their

huge metallic herds

on both sides

of the highway.

The solitary,

powerful nomad

hunting them

with his radar gun

crouches behind

some trees in the median.

Out of the corner

of her eye she sees him

too late--his eyes

already flashing

in her rearview,

her heart leaping

like an antelope

pronking in her chest

as she flees among

the other antelope,

hoping it isn’t her

he will outrun,

overtake, pull over

the rumble strip

to the shoulder,

his grille breathing

hot on her tail lights,

taking his time

writing her up,

her doe-eyed

hazards blinking.

© by Paul Hostovsky.
Used with the author's permission.