Friday, August 17, 2012

What is it like

What is it like to live in Milan?
I live in the thick green suburbs
Of a rusted Midwestern city--
O, you can hear the freight trains
Blowing past like they really have
Some place to go, at night, like they
Really care about all the dark little
Patches of oak rushing by.
That what the American night
Is all about.  So that we all get up
In the morning to wonder if there are
Other cities among the stars,
Other songs making the air a confusion
Of stories.  Do you go to the park
To sit in the sun?  I've sat on my
Porch for ages waiting for that to happen.
Right now, in the eternal state of Ohio
I'm just home.  Dinner is warm,
Outside the silver maples have been
Absorbed by nightfall reduced
To items found at a garage sale--
It's all become a church pot-luck,
Where you can never be sure
Of anything once the sun's gone.

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