Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Poems by Glenn Bach   25 the oily timbre     of automobiles    engines distant drone of cars   the blend of traffic     from each street and the other in each direction   only to vanish     with a new sound    or the wind or my own footsteps   35 Thin rubber strips of windshield wipers sweep rain-dampened windshields, squeegee supported in six places for even pressure, firm contact (moving a lever back and forth   in the old days), the hum of the motor and worm gear, the squeak, the water flicking away, an obliterated surface of rain, reborn anew between each arcing pass.   Next Poem
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