Ode To Nicolet Lane
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From the anthology, Complaining to the Clock, a work in progress. This is the third of 5 "Redding" poems. From August 1960 to August 1961 I lived on Nicolet Lane as a 9 year old. Going back recently after 58 years was like a trip to the past in a time machine. Redding hasn't changed much in a half a century, except the crime rate has skyrocketed and all the neon cocktail signs are gone. But still, it is surrounded by magnificent beauty.
Reading Poem 3
"Ode to Nicolet Lane"
There I saw green visions,
and a young boy of 9 years running by,
As I stood once again upon the aged asphalt.
Last time I stood there was 58 years hence;
I recall the sun was sinking
like a ship into a gray gloom it seemed,
and summer was breathing its last,
as 1961’s national celebration
of labor and the getting of goods, commenced,
with the flaying and cooking of
pig, bovine and crackling fowl,
our thick smoke arose
like a geyser of giddy anticipation
of all things worth working for,
and worth dying for.
Our thoughts turned to the times
of slowing down the stringent clock,
of attempting to lasso in
the final minutes of faint freedom,
when beneficent windows will exhale at last,
issuing the perfumes of time and closure.
One’s childhood never really dies,
when it is possible to return
to these old mind streets.
I turn on my heels and see
the green trees of Nicolet Lane,
continuing to give a widespread shade
58 years hence,
and I can see Tyke the ghost dog,
chasing yet another chevy impala down this road,
barking and yapping incessantly
at a pair of white-walled tires,
escaping once again this mad dog running amok!
And look. I see Time way down the lane there too,
limping along with a walking stick,
testing the sediment and the feel of autumn’s touch.
We both know supper will soon be served yet again,
and we will exhale at last,
while unfolding our napkins
to receive the soup tureen.
Copyright © Stark Hunter | Year Posted 2019
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