Photography © Jack Marty

 

Guardrails

I woke up thinking
about guardrails. How
there are none to stop
this president, none in
place against Miller,
Noem, Vance or ICE.
Like on the hilly back-
roads of Vermont, whe-
ther it’s day or night, if
there’s ice there’s noth-
ing to stop your car from
spinning out of control
into a ditch or flipping
over and off a route with
no rails. On a frozen road,
without guardrails, neither
all-wheel drive nor snow-
tires, no planning ahead nor
slowing down, no fatherly
lessons on turning into
a skid, no prayers nor a
knock-on-wood will save
you.

 

Laurie Rosen is a lifelong New Englander. Her poetry has appeared in One Art: a journal of poetry, Gyroscope Review, Oddball Magazine, The New Verse News, The Inquisitive Eater: New School Food, Zig Zag Lit Mag, and elsewhere. Laurie was nominated for a 2025 Pushcart Prize.

Jack Marty takes photos when he feels like it. He thinks long bios get in the way of the work.