SOMEBODY WANTS
I'm not perfect and I never said
I was, but rolling through Dunellen
a person could almost feel so. Every
little corner is a happenstance awaiting
completion : the Mexican brood with
the Quick-Chek bags; eating madly the
chips and the cookies. There's some
puppet guy who lives around there too;
a friend of mine, once. He's got a little
compound there for all his cool stuff.
Somebody wants me, blemishes and
all, and that's a pretty neat feeling; but
who wants to stay here? Who wants
anything in a place like this? Bound
Brook, Middlesex, Dunellen, and the
rest. Just highway turn-off names
now. The minor league baseball
place hugs the corner. I used to
play ball for fun. Now everything
I do, I do for keeps.
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