Wednesday, August 26, 2009

1968

end over end they flew 
in the cool plum darkness
of early morning. 
tightly knit batons
of yesterdays news, vietnam, 
the body count, politics, 
whichever way the wind
was blowing. my raw hands
were stained with the soft 
black ink of the washington post,
its pages full of a war i cared 
little about, 
only that it would end before 
my turn. 
just the yankees mattered, 
mantle's hits. it was before 
bobby kennedy walked
into that hotel kitchen, 
before king stepped onto 
the balcony, before 
the chicago seven,
before the riots burned
throughout the city laying
a cold black ash upon it all. 
It was before the moon landing, 
woodstock, before my father
left my mother and seven kids 
with a single suitcase in his hand. 
each morning I carried
the diminished weight 
of my route in the rain,
in snow, down the unplowed 
streets and alleys, around 
the chain link fences
that separated dirt yards 
of my neighborhood. 
and as i walked my voice
echoed in song,
high pitched and wavering, 
singing the temptations, 
marvin gaye, little anthony 
and the imperials. james brown.
i howled at the moon,
still untouched, 
a world still possibly mine.
with so much left to know.

3 comments:

Sara Leigh said...

I remember that time too. Then came 1969, graduation, and off to college and darker days.

Di said...

Wow. Great poem. Really.

Di said...

I wish I wrote this.