BACK HOME
Gravel roads and empty fields
A man in a John Deere cap
Watches us pass - his face is sunburned failure
Dusty dooryards in which the children play dispiritedly
With blocks and Tonka trucks
Wiping runny noses on grubby hands
And up the lane I once walked down
With pleated skirt brushing scabbed knees
For the school bus
Nothing is varied in this empty place
The same peeling formica countertops
And linoleum floors
And there in the family room
The wall I stood against for photographs
A prom, a Christmas, a wedding, a leave
The faded patch of floor where
Once my father's clock stood
Marking minutes through nights
When the heat was still and pressing down
On my disatisfaction
This silence like tears is dripping
8/24/00
