-To each his own-

That's me

Standing on the corner
Leaning against the chain-
Linked fence of the park

Looking around,

Exhaling the forbidden smoke 
From my nostrils, 

Waiting for somebody to show up.

It’s early evening

Just before suppertime

When we’re usually expected
To be inside.

My parents left in mid-morning

Traveling to Tiverton, Rhode Island

And the wedding of a niece.

My mother left "supper on the stove".

Macaroni and cheese.

Not the packaged shit.

Home-cooked elbow macaroni,

Strained, multi-layered with cheeses

And baked in the oven

Forming an amber crust.

It stays warm on the stove.
My teenage sister has escaped to the house

Of the fascinating Edwina Mello

And my younger brother
Is rummaging through

The drawers of her bedroom dresser.
He doesn't know what it is he's looking for

And he won’t understand anything he finds.

But instinctively, he knows he has to do this.
It's a rite of passage.

That's me, standing on the corner
Leaning against the right-field fence,
The smoldering butt flicked to street-side
As adroitly as the best of professional smokers,

Looking around, waiting for somebody to show up.

                                                Quequechan