Paying My Respects
What a matchless Saturday afternoon, in late April, it was,
To take a stroll through Clayton's Moorlands,
That slate-roofed, half-timbered neighborhood from the thirties,
Where I spent my first decade, growing into boyhood,
Beginning my education at Glenridge Elementary,
Missing the implications of Pearl Harbor, Hitler, Tojo, Mussolini,
Trading comic books, flipping bubblegum cards,
Getting into playground scuffles, feeling the bite of my dad's belt,
Reveling in our newest wellspring of entertainment: television.
And to think all that had transpired so long ago
That none of the vibrantly blossoming white and red dogwoods,
Deep purple irises, ivory spireas, orange-breasted robins,
Elegant old-world houses recognized me...
Not, necessarily, that I expected them to.
And yet, it might have been a reassuring good-will gesture,
A sign of continuity, a gentle nod to my past,
Had the duplex at 811 Glenridge — the one with our first TV —
Glinted its windows, at me, when I stopped to pay my respects.
04/25/09 - (1)
|