Peter Lewis Holmes Poet Free verse

It Isn'T Home

Then I remember it's not home;
that place with white dresses, hats 
and pretty lace parasols, and studied 
looks from crooks and salesmen;

no, no; it's none of these, it's me,
my old life, and I watch the milk-girls
and gigolos on Baxter Street, giving 
long, drawn looks into adjacent nebulae,
ads for screen tests, and other black holes;

and that's all well and dandy fine; but it
isn't home, no, no; it isn't that.

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Rhonda Johnson-Saunders February 15, 2015 at 10:23 PM I agree with Bev...the depth and imagery in this write is fantastic...looking back can bring strong emotions. I find the changes difficult to see when I visit my old neighborhood...they're not for the better. Hugs, Rhonda