Halcion Days
By Bob Boldt
In my home town, all the stores are pharmacies.
My windows are fun house mirrors.
Above each door the drug of choice
blares out in neon exclamation:
Oxycontin! Ritalin! Viagra!
In my home town the train runs twice a day.
Precisely at 6 a.m. it drops off bundles of headlines and ads
and at 8 p.m. it picks up garbage bags
of fish heads and regrets.
My hometown high school football stadium
Is now a drive-in movie.
Every Friday night the scoreboard displays the number of
infidelities accomplished by us and the folks down yonder.
On giant screens behind the goal posts
moving images of doe-eyed ladies
repeat the numbers dutifully displayed:
Home: 432. Visitors: 365.
I would get the hell out.
But my sin-stuffed bags are over the limit
and will never clear customs.
Besides, tomorrow I may run for mayor.
By Bob Boldt
My windows are fun house mirrors.
Above each door the drug of choice
blares out in neon exclamation:
Oxycontin! Ritalin! Viagra!
In my home town the train runs twice a day.
Precisely at 6 a.m. it drops off bundles of headlines and ads
and at 8 p.m. it picks up garbage bags
of fish heads and regrets.
My hometown high school football stadium
Is now a drive-in movie.
Every Friday night the scoreboard displays the number of
infidelities accomplished by us and the folks down yonder.
On giant screens behind the goal posts
moving images of doe-eyed ladies
repeat the numbers dutifully displayed:
Home: 432. Visitors: 365.
I would get the hell out.
But my sin-stuffed bags are over the limit
and will never clear customs.
Besides, tomorrow I may run for mayor.
| Copyright © 2015 by Bob Boldt |
Bob I always enjoy your trips through the looking glass of the mind.
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