Woodbury New Jersey Whetstone One

Woodbury, new jersey home 
   to me self since birth
my very late mother 
   (bless her long departed soul)

   slaved and toiled 
   per accursed penury and dearth
tried her darnedest 
   to create happiness while on earth

would be livid with rage 
   at lack of neighbors’ manners
   if spirit of said deceased 
   returned to this home and hearth

so let this poem serve 
   as springboard to communicate anger 
   for whatever 
   this literary effort might be worth.
 
this aged body of mine creaky, 
   nearly out of steam, 
   and well nigh lost track
of countless times auld lang 

   cos sine and concomitant excitement 
   filled past and long distant childhood 
   waiting for ole saint nick
to careen down chimney flue lugging 

   that humongous and bulging sack
or going out hunting 
   (when this area mostly woodlands) 
   awash with fauna and flora

   and not unusual for pop to bring home 
   a buck sporting many tiered rack
caught in the cross hairs of firearms 
   seemed like gendarme of the pack

now, which memories flood my noggin, 
   akin to overflowing waters o the Merrimack
especially disconcerting with hostility 
   from youths politeness to lack

spouting expletives with flip of the bird 
   to us older folks who cough n hack
   similar to staccato machine gun fire 
   in terms of that barrage of flack

Copyright © Matthew Harris | Year Posted 2018

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