The Town
It’s always there -
the town where I grew up -
in the mind’s eye -
like a speck of dust on the eyeball -
just off to the side.
Not a day goes by without a visit -
wandering streets like a tourist -
plaid Bermuda shorts -
suitcase filled with empty space -
taking snapshots of the vanished -
peeking around corners -
studying reflections of the natives
in drug store windows -
Chatting up old—timers in the graveyard —
picking up souvenirs from the rocks and clay -
searching the dime store for classmates
among the record albums–
repelling the lewd advances of girdles and bras.
At night I hear the wail of truck tires on the turnpike -
and commuter train whistles muffled by wet snow.
I am a child reading books under the covers -
hoping it will snow
forever.
(2014)
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