podunk no horse

you know this place

peeled paint picked flakes

and rusted hay rakes

anchored in duff and shrouded

in weeds the moist smell

of earth in your nostrils

kissing the dirt and smoking

snake grass talking to the notorious

absent you keep coming back to

know you never leave the rutted alleys

at least highway 10 is paved

over and under the railroad tracks

that define your longing east of west

your existence north of south

where kids climb the mountain

and mimic the world wars

construction fire sex that landscape

development parents can’t see

where you explore the spooky forest

massively overgrown and glacially

boulder strewn a creepy quiet

dark mystery of black birds and

bears south down to the river

where you swim in your shit

suckers lying on fishy mud banks

masturbating in the sun

you live for fun whatever

that is on the wrong side

of the tracks by the bum jungle

where hobos camp in scrap

shanties built into the steam train

roundhouse foundations in

the campfire dark of the water tower

where it’s always fall or early

spring matted dead grass

sweatshirt or jacket-cool weather

nose-dripping melancholy

forever this is home to you

the lonelier the better

a comfort zone of observation

muted tones rewound some

instinctive knowing nothing is clear

cycles of history life love death

fear helps but can’t explain

the rosary laced between your dead

grandfather’s fingers dad’s rage

your mother’s voice in your ear

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2 Responses to podunk no horse

  1. Sandy MacLain says:

    Just connected with Pamela. Look forward to reading your work.

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