My Niche

4/6/08

Loaded vans of folds of clothes

up close are layers of zippers upon duffels

in the crevices they're infested

with untamed grains

of retired gritty sand.

Bits of shell permentently trapped in our jailhouse sandals.

 

Peeling, flaking, burning skin

smothered with soothing aloe.

My headphones continuously stand on my head

soon causing a feverish pounding.

'Kokomo' repeated for the seventh time.

 

The chilled air pours through the driver's window

squinting my droughty eyes, it makes my forehead numb.

Aware of the van's thirst for home

my mother challenges the limit with her iron foot,

jerking my father's head, disrupting his snore.

Lodging next exit, Sleep Inn.

My thoughts immersed beyond the window.

 

Welcome to Kentucky,

we pass the old fair grounds in a blur.

Two ferris wheels,

but only one remains standing.

Swings propelled with only time.

Parts of the carousel remain scattered, forgotten.

Wishing that I could've been there when it operated.

And lived.

The van chugs past the decaying attraction,

I'm coming home.

 

The ritual of waking up after crossing the familiar tracks,

knowing that home is eight houses away.

Feeling as if spotting a lighthouse after a long voyage.

Looking at the softly lit houses,

kissed on the head, children are carefully tucked in.

 

We pull in and thrust ourselves out,

stretching our cramped libs.

We avalanche throught the squeeling door,

colliding with one another.

Stale air hits the back of my throat.

This is

My niche.

 

 

Reviews

[schanzilla]

i like how this wanders along at its own pace. the imagery is stellar, could picture dully staring out the window at mile markers.