Archive 04/11/11 - (2)

 

   

Moving In

                                                                  

 

Oh, what a really neat plan we've planned, haven't we,

You and I, Grandzo Linda?

The three of you have driven into Clayton,

Bags packed for an overnighter,

And met me, at 5:30 sharp, in the front driveway of my high-rise.

 

Now, ten minutes later, not three miles east of my condo,

We've parked in a garage fronting Delmar, across from the Tivoli,

And are losing ourselves to the eighty-degree Friday evening,

Promenading along the brass-star-studded sidewalk,

Which commemorates St. Louis's celebrities.

 

Soon, University City's "funkiness" —

Motorcycle gangs, panhandlers, streetwalkers, kooks,

Youths emulating local hip-hop hero Nelly, with gangsta rataplan,

Many sporting tattoos, pierced faces, rainbow hairdos —

Loses its charm, beckons us to retreat,

 

Head for Blueberry Hill (that temple of rock 'n roll,

Stuffed with Chuck Berry memorabilia, Elvis and Beatles miscellanea),

Where we order comfort food:

Parker's mac and cheese, Savvy's buffalo wings with hot sauce,

Your and my always-good-in-a-pinch made-to-order salads.

 

After the kids play a few arcade games

(Thanks to the abracadabra-magical change machine,

Which transforms our fool's-gold dollars into alchemical tokens),

We dive into dinner, grateful for being together.

Then, after traipsing through an art gallery, it's back to the car.

 

Before we know it, we're in Clayton again, in my apartment,

A residence that's not felt like a house, let alone a home,

For the nine years I've lived here...

Not until this evening, anyway, when a family I now belong to,

Which belongs to me, too, is moving in, for the night.

 

 

 

 

 

 

04/11/11 - (2)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
 
 
 
       

 

 

 
   
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