Carmen is a Cat

Streetlights At Six

In the long haul of getting

used to it, an acre of years

in the bottleneck of time,
What about the flags, the stories
to tell, receipts and neighbors
who bicker over parking space.
I am the homeless I'll say. A good excuse.

All of that Atlantic below us,

every one of her fish.
Leaving is always the same,
goodbye to fog and the shape of bread
there, impractical kitchens.
Hello to the typical bravery
of fire departments, right on red remember?
Sliding doors and old formica.
Year after year labelled first to thirty first
in Gregorian. Everyone is bringing 1980
to the pot luck. Streetlights at six.

Xeroscaping. Lawnmowing. Post offices.
Little Debbie cakes, better homes and gardens
up the yingyang. A certain kind of heaven
but no where like home, clicking my heels
and they don't know where to go:
Witch of the East, Witch of the North,
one shiney the other vindictive.
It was always about them. Then someplace else.