In the manner of Edward Thomas's poem "Adlestrop."
Of course, I can recall East Boston
The way it was when I was ten,
When Mamma Rosa stirred her sauce
Or "gravy," as I called it then.
I still hear Logan’s jumbo-jets
Vast-wing’d and screeching overhead,
Their noise like brutal fighting words
From toughs who’d gladly see me dead.
Kushner’s had shoes. Roy's had cold cuts.
Sound Factory had 45s
From disco divas and rock bands:
“Freak Out” and “Born to Be Alive.”
And after school, I'd ride the bus
Where older women aged thirteen
Would tease me till my soul shrank back
To my own world where girls weren’t mean.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
Read 68 times
Written on 2022-08-02 at 11:21
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