Archive
07/07/09 - (1)
The Downhill Side
Around the subdued town, Gyved to houses and the auditorium's pole, Which stands at attention, On the lawn descending to the beach, Flags droop, in morning's windless fifty degrees.
Nevertheless, their red and white stripes, Blue fields with half a hundred stars, Speak an argot of community pride, freedom, As do the tricolored rainbows Of semicircular buntings Yet draped to porch railings, storefronts — Old Glory spectators of a recent procession, In whose wake are the thousand or so souls Scattered around this life-sustaining lake, Who recognize that the height of their main season Is already behind them, On summer's downhill side, Though three months remain Before the unmitigable cold takes hold.
For now, this town goes about its deeds, With a sense of fortitude Befitting a poet penning odes, to time's slowness, All the while knowing he's being seized In the eaglelike talons and beak of its fleet flight And that each poem he writes Is another day leaving these shores.
07/07/09 - (1)
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