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Poem

True noises from outside 
deep in the night of winter,
snow geese cadence call too
shake some sense of me.
Summon me to remember who I am, 
Bid me to evoke who I was.
 
I see fire in the valley through the rain
and I stumble through the mist
too see what ghosts are there.
It’s where I cut my teeth
on tricks to deal with pain.
It’s where I danced in junkyard smoke
and I browned my hair.

City blocks in suburb woods was the day,
Greatest Generation with their pills and pay.
One or two stone’s throw from Europe
ran the blood, all the way from Bronx
and Brooklyn on the G.I. Bill.
We yelled songs and bloodied lips in summer mud,
we built forts, carried knives, fought for king of hill.
Collars blue and white and red as pools of blood.
sticks and stones will break your bones as the calling does.

We were free to paint our days.
We played in the slipstream, sang song 
and danced in the marsh for the mallow. 
We drank cream soda and smoked Pall Mall non filters.
We distrusted Protestants and hated Hitler.
We were rough neck hippies, hometown gypsies.
Tribal, we did not always play well with others.
In the year of the plague we crucified the frogs.
 
True noises from outside
in winter dawn,
snow geese timbre and rhyme too
shake some sense in me.
Striving to recall who I am,
trying to recollect who I was.

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