DAVID BLUEBEARD LAMPSHADE
Chesterfield please don't come home.
There's nothing left here for you; the
prairies are empty and the waterspouts
are dry. The places where we wired the
fences with barb, they remain, but nothing
is left to keep in. Strange it is how questions
arise, even among those with the answers.
-
I can't quite speak for you, of course, but
the old red house you so much loved, where
Mr. Rancey lived, it's empty now and he is
gone. Buried on Matblack Hill. I've got his
old coat these days, and use it as my own.
-
The chill is always the same, but it warms
the bones no matter. Hearing the train again,
as I write, it whistles along, I maybe wonder
why it never stops, but then I realize they
can only stop where a station is. Otherwise
they'd be lost in the dust and gloom.
-
So I really am glad I have that coat. His kids
were reluctant to let it go but I told I'd known
him since I was twelve and always remembered
the coat, and the way he used to walk around
at night, in it. And all the loose change he
always kept in its pockets - throwing us
kids quarters and dimes.
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