MY PENULTIMATE EMBRACE
No, really; the roadway seems determined to
ease my way to Nothingness. Bending and
twisting around obstacles and trees, it will,
soon enough lead me to that revered small
place I left so long ago. The town square,
centered with its Civil War Memorial and
the list of places and names. Atop it all, some
poor-boy soldier, like a squire, staring out
and holding a rifle and a sword.
-
The center of town is rimmed with an old
filling station; two glass bays on a concrete
isle of steel and light. Oil cans and a hose.
Battery water in a spouted pail. Here and
there still stand a few hitching posts, with
iron rings, from one hundred years ago.
Can't get any more lazy than that.
-
I was born nearby, and raised, it seems,
in a well; the town well - everyone came
to draw from me, to take away, and no
no one ever left a thing, 'cept
words and idle chatter.
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