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 [email protected]

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