Donald Meikle Poet Narrative

Familiarity

I walked for a while on the other side of the road
The whiteness of the late morning clouds
The moving rounded shapes of familiarity
Walking in the same uphill direction
With eyes in the sky
I do not remember the gutter on that side of the road
The pavement was narrower
Allowing front gardens for two storied duplexes
It was somehow more rustic and countrified 
Looking over the hedged in tram tracks
The storefronts separated by flat doors were smaller
Blended together as one building
Which they actually were
I had not noticed this 
Though I'd spent most of my life in it
Crossing the street had not been easy
Getting back would be
For soon I'd be where I'd always crossed
To walk down Thomas Lane to school
I stood in front of the blacksmith's
Smelling the burnt hoof  horse sweat
Realizing the comfort of familiarity
The clouds sailed by as unconcerned as ever

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