The concrete floor
Of the garage,
Cool even on the hottest summer day.

That cave, one only retreated
To if leaving in the car,
Or to get pop from the fridge.

That step from the coolness
Of the air-conditioned house
Into a different kind of cool.
One that stayed heat with the pent
Up cold of night.

It made me pause,
Then my mind registered the difference.

But, a cat wanted in, Dad was in a hurry,
We were going to the store.

So, that moment, that instant,
That reoccurred all through my childhood,
Well into adulthood, my eyes adjusting
To the darkness, the smell of camping gear,
Fires long put out, remains
Essentially meaningless.

January 11, 2010
Anne Westlund

Poetry by Anne Westlund The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 517 times
Written on 2010-01-23 at 10:35

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very nice write on somethin most ppl would completely over look.. i love pop btw.
enjoyed this piece greatly!
keep it up!

What a flood of memories this brought back. Garages all have their own smells and personalities. They've all lived different lives, had cars that dripped various liquids, teenagers with drums, amplifiers and cigarettes :-), beer cases and a long list of other intermingling odours.
I enjoyed this. Thanks, Nick