Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

I unconditionally love the eutony heard by
my soul when I hear certain words.
zing, zip, zeal, zest, zealot, zipper, and z,
are particular favorites, for several sing-songy reasons,
slithering into my dendrites in a pleasing way.

South reminds me of my dad’s Southside Gang,
a group of six boys who grew up together, bonding
in the mysterious ways of boys who live in a small town,
and find each other in Kindergarten, knowing they will 
be together their entire lives. 

Living the best life, as besties,
only one left, and I do wonder about him. Poor man.
The words 'church' and 'lurch' have a certain bite.
They click on my tongue.  

Small town churches are the same, still helping us reminisce
about a society and a time when everyone in a community 
rises up to straighten the youth out, and help them to become
the best selves they can be.  

It is a mystery to me how they all gave me advice, none of it the
same, and yet I turned out magically all right. I have no idea
why I am such a sentimental mood his evening, but it is a rather
pleasant thing to cough up these terrific memories of a small town.

If you are still living in one, I hope you know how lucky you are.

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