Almost Home

I could go to a movie. I could go to a bar,
And, in the process, watch myself move
Awkwardly, self-consciously, an unkempt,
Vaguely downtown, sort, unlike the stylish
Denizens of all the subdivisions spreading,
Cancer-like, across the fields which once
Were west of Omaha. "Almost home,"
I'd tell myself, recalling feeling similarly
Awkward when I took the bus back from
Seattle to my mom's suburban home.
I came to hate the stares of those who
Passed me in their fine, new cars,
Appalled or frightened by my strangeness.
No one old enough to drive would be
Caught dead on foot on those streets.
None would have holes in his clothes.
I stayed away for years. I rode the busses,
Walked the streets downtown, and
Later, when I left the city, I bypassed
The suburbs for a shabby country home.
Alas, the suburbs came to me, and
Now I see their residents, so prim
And soulless, through my windows.
I feel I've been caged again. The cage
Is huge. It runs for miles. In it, one
May watch himself move stiffly
Among places, such as theaters
And bars.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 57 times
Written on 2018-03-16 at 19:40

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