-quequechan / the early years

I can see the house

where the inside of the world is;

plaster laid for its gaudy dresses, its wallpaper

unfurled, decorated like a prom on the cheap.

the core is hot with inhabitants who

allow the air to settle in the evening,

a reprieve from the daytime racket, but not as sweet.

in the morning, everyone gets-up at the same time

to begin their rites of passage through the day,

the parakeet, the cat, the parents and grandparents,

the kids, with the egg man knocking hard at the door.

from here I can go anyplace, but I'll go down to the river.

I'll go down to the river where

the housing projects shelter the dark-haired

Azorean beauties, bright-eyed, and olive-skinned,

who fabricate stories as if the poets advised them

in the faces of fathers as stern as their power-loom machinery.

my young blood is all it takes for a walk to the entry,

a strong inside-arched foot to the kickstand, a grip

of the handlebars, a roll of three bumps down the stairs

of the entry and a westward heading toward the river.

pedaling fast, looking back from the saddle I can see

the house where the inside of the world is growing smaller

and smaller..