04-10-2014, 11:19 AM
Wares
She waits with daisy eyes upturned, a glint
of emerald center set in bezel head;
as if in fear of wilting, searching for what fled
Sun's light is left, trembling in the dint
of dusk.
I walk the streets at night. The motorist
who doesn't slow or swerve can't seem to see
the headlights play across my tapestry
of threadbare hand-me-downs. I don't exist
to some; they argue on the upper floor
of Main Street's newest spire. Go home, some say,
but I don't know where home is. Point the way,
and save me from the missives on the door.
The local grocer greets me with a smile,
and trades fresh fish and broccoli for a word,
and help with legal matters. But I've heard
new laws have passed, he says, and hands the file
for me to read, revise, and stamp my seal.
They'll lock you up as vagrant: On what grounds?
It is illegal now to roam these towns
without a home, too broke to buy a meal.
He offers me a wage, and room upstairs,
then sings the song he sings to me each day:
Go home to Caroline, she loves and cares
for you; she's knitting socks and hats today
to keep you warm. You need your winter wares;
Go home to Caroline, go home and stay
the winter where you wife can warm the years.
I stumble to the liquor store, to trade
some fish for booze and sleep. A memory
creeps in the corners of my mind: The fade
of sunset when scarred corneas can't see;
a little girl who's playing in the shade.
Oh, Caroline, have you forgiven me?
She waits with daisy eyes upturned, a glint
of emerald center set in bezel head;
as if in fear of wilting, searching for what fled
Sun's light is left, trembling in the dint
of dusk.
I walk the streets at night. The motorist
who doesn't slow or swerve can't seem to see
the headlights play across my tapestry
of threadbare hand-me-downs. I don't exist
to some; they argue on the upper floor
of Main Street's newest spire. Go home, some say,
but I don't know where home is. Point the way,
and save me from the missives on the door.
The local grocer greets me with a smile,
and trades fresh fish and broccoli for a word,
and help with legal matters. But I've heard
new laws have passed, he says, and hands the file
for me to read, revise, and stamp my seal.
They'll lock you up as vagrant: On what grounds?
It is illegal now to roam these towns
without a home, too broke to buy a meal.
He offers me a wage, and room upstairs,
then sings the song he sings to me each day:
Go home to Caroline, she loves and cares
for you; she's knitting socks and hats today
to keep you warm. You need your winter wares;
Go home to Caroline, go home and stay
the winter where you wife can warm the years.
I stumble to the liquor store, to trade
some fish for booze and sleep. A memory
creeps in the corners of my mind: The fade
of sunset when scarred corneas can't see;
a little girl who's playing in the shade.
Oh, Caroline, have you forgiven me?