A poem: In My TownMore Info
In my town the bearded poet with two front teeth missing is in a political rage,
Drinking his early morning beer in front of the poor man’s café
Where the marijuana made artists get their coffee.
In my town a young and burnt out cello player with huge lips and a beret full of tips has been
playing Amazing Grace all day
Because it’s the only song that he loves
And I lean against the wall and watch with an appreciation for passion.
In my town a drunken man sits on the sidewalk bench in a white tank top,
Putting out cigarettes on the brim of his hat
And contemplating the fire hydrant in front of him,
Wondering how to set it off.
In my town I watch my feet move on the sidewalk
Where the summer children have misspelled words in pink chalk on cement
And when I look up,
The girl I tried not to love appears magically on Main Street to assassinate me.
In my town there are too many pretty girls in the ice cream shop
Playing with their iPhones
Because they have forgotten how to enjoy each other.
In my town they sit in the heart of the sun and complain about tyranny and hypocrisy and
They hate their country but they love their countrymen.
In my town at 2 A.M. a drunken pregnant woman tries to bike home
Cursing the injustice of potholes to her boyfriend who is not really there.
In my town the youth congregate to complain about their futures and
Try their hand at drinking away their worries.
They want more than their imaginings of the future can give them
And they discuss their inner complexities over skim lattés.
They do not know that they will one day forget these beautifully wretched moments
In their beautifully wretched town.
(In 2013, this poem appeared in ThunderDome, the writers collective.)