Produced by Maine Poetry Central and Dennis Camire
This week’s poem by Les Simon of Jonesboro explores the relationship between memory and a sense of belonging.
By Les Simon
Here three years then
(seventeen now), walking back
from the Post Office, my neighbor
picks me up brings me home,
right into the driveway where
snow flurries drift about awhile
before settling down.
Snug in his pickup, a hearty local
and me the outsider, his two dogs
in back, Wolf and another, name gone
with the wind, we gab politics, agreeing
mostly with how the decline of morals
above trickles down among the people
set adrift in a trickle-up economy.
An unidentified element penetrates the
window glass, unseen, permeates his cab,
refreshing, unannounced, removes its hat,
lights up a Cuban cigar and passes around
an ice cold bottle of vodka.
Funny how memories can return
as fresh as the first. The good is
taken with the bad, survival continues
in spite, but some memories come
uncovered, rich in flavor and spirit,
reaffirming once again that occasional
sense of belonging.
Dennis Camire can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org