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Posts Tagged ‘nostalgia’

The Same Earth

July 30, 2014 1 comment

My sons march on the same earth
I practiced on a different century ago
but that was before I tried writing a novel
getting married, watching
Remains of the Day.

I can’t recognize the place
because the new band room
and a fence has been added on
and so much grass has grown
since then.

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Categories: Debugging Tags: , ,

Unoriginal

September 29, 2013 Leave a comment

This is my father’s world.
Jesus freaks on the road
to the county fair.
Only a dim recollection
of them in a median
as we hurry by.

My parents younger
than I am now.
They’re too old to understand hippies.
I’m too young.

Polyester suits at the hymn-singing
counter-protest to modernity
or at least whatever version
that hates the war and big band music.

Categories: Debugging Tags: ,

Online and Off (Revision 1)

July 22, 2012 9 comments

for W.

I keep finding you as a friend of friends,
or in the spuriously precise terms of LinkedIn,
a 2nd degree connection. You’ve added
various certifications and jobs at companies
which weren’t even around in the days
we worked around a so-called platonic attraction.
The ways we fit together broke down under the strain.

Much of this wasn’t true.
What’s true was: a lemon-scented shampoo smell in a lobby;
the then-stylish bob from which you’ve moved,
on a fit, sun-damaged woman in a tennis dress;
the sound of a certain cultured accent;
a taste for Shiraz I still have,
and tell myself has nothing to do with you.

This frictionless conservation of momentum
this communication event horizon –
I could send this message to you right now
and there’d be only one reason
you wouldn’t answer.

Online and Off

July 21, 2012 2 comments

I keep finding you as a friend of friends,
or in the spuriously precise terms of LinkedIn,
a 3rd degree connection,
having added to your CV various
certifications which weren’t even around
in the days we worked together,
divided by a common tongue,
a so-called platonic attraction:
The ways we fit together broke down under the strain.

Much of this wasn’t true.
My truth is the lemon-scented shampoo smell in the lobby;
the then-stylish bob from which you’ve doubtlessly moved on,
on the head of an older woman in a tennis dress,
the sound of an urban English accent,
the taste for Shiraz I still have,
and tell myself it’s nothing
to do with you.

Categories: Debugging Tags: , ,

Motel Bel-Air

October 12, 2011 5 comments

Dad pulls up in the Rambler, and
we see the sign first: POOL – COLOR TV.
Darkness fills the edges of the parking lot.
My brother and I plan to live up
to the promise of that sign. No trunks,
but some shorts Mom had packed for the next day.
She wearily agrees. Later, from the zero gravity
of turquoise-lit night water, I see Dad’s
cigarette lit like an orange rocket as he blows
white smoke skyward, sitting slumped in a plastic chair. Read more…