EDGZ (#13) (Print) (October 07)
It doesn’t really matter, does it,
once you’ve seen the Mall Of America
the abandoned tennis court
where Robert Frost learned to play,
no doubt enjoying the long volley
and scowling at any opponent
selfish enough to serve up an ace;
once you’ve walked down Elm Street
in someone else’s home town
and seen that Elm Street looks like
every other Elm Street, every other
elm-lined Main Street, every
tree-lined street in towns where
trees still line Main Street;
once you’ve looked into the eyes
of the diner’s late night waitress,
the eyes of the late night diners,
the eyes of the people up late at night
hungry for a stranger’s friendly look.
Everywhere you go, folks turn out
to root for the Buckeyes or the Jayhawks,
elbow their way into stadiums, turn up
along the parade route hours early, unfold
blue nylon chairs to get the best view, holding
cold beer in a blue cooler under a blue sky
or bury themselves in the beach sand and
worship the sun coming at them in waves
across the wide sky of another summer.
My friend Hatch used to say, “No matter
where you go, there you are. If you lived here
you’d be home now.” He thought he was
being funny. And he was being funny.
But it’s true. You’re home now.