How To Find Youe Way Home

How to Find Your Way Home Wear your tweed coat and checked hat. The bus stops at the edge of the bridge. It is a drawbridge and the ships are passing. An old peddler pushes his cart along the edge and sings his fruits. There are stars in the water. Newsboys will shout their headlines. “Red skies bleed to yellow.” Ignore them and count your change because it is a green day and the colors always change at dusk. This is the way the street opens, but the cobblestones defy interpretations. Treasonous taxis sit back under street lamps, doors slightly ajar. The young women are dancing with reflections, their heads ringed with beads. The men are no longer interested in dreams. The restaurants will be almost empty. No one orders in English. Pinpricks of light will appear in the north sky. Hobos will stand with their hats in their hands, waiting for Venus to appear in the sky. You will know you are there when the last ship passes. Do not look back. The bridge is a clock. Mark Conte Copyright, Yankee magazine, 1982