-and call me in the morning-

standing water

filled the claw-footed tubs

and was deemed safe enough.

polio, with its crippling grip

was rumored to be found in other types of ponds,

fresh water lakes and reservoirs,

the metal-scented puddles of the gutters

laying dormant near the sewers,—

and the red-tinctured

water circling the bobbing

bikini-crowded raft, anchored

in the middle of standing water

at Reed’s Road Beach,— water,

red with algae, red with iodine,

red by the lurking blood of Polio.

hospital beds were isolated.

neighbors inhaled carefully

inside the theaters and groceries

of their neighborhoods.
the Strand on Pleasant Street
pleaded for spare change
during its movie intermissions.
"when you walk through a storm
  hold your head up high.."

everyone seemed to know somebody

who knew someone stricken with Polio.

there was talk of “The Hospital” in Taunton.

from here, “The Virus” was three
decades beyond the shuttered windows.

-Edna, the aunt from down north-

Aunt Edna had a full head of hair —

Blonde, so-to-speak and spray-

Fixed high like a wisp in cotton candy.

Edna was remote and mysterious with

Rasputin-like eyes curtained in sticky,

Black fans of eyelash.

She was mildly plump of body

And the top of her nylon stockings

Could be seen as she crossed

Her powerful legs

While sitting on the couch

Whenever she came over for coffee, ginger snaps

And a quick visual violation.

From my preferred position on the rug

The view of her was whatever

My wandering eyes could get to.

Sometimes I’d inch my way in her direction

By free-wheeling my plastic hook n' ladder

Closer to the couch, then slithering along the rug

To ground zero and Edna's good parts.

Some said she seemed more French than Italian.

She'd go home after bending toward the rug

To plant a kiss upon my forehead while I patted her ass

With an affectionate-looking goodbye hug.

                                          From: "All the goings-on at 1017" 

                                   

no title / lone wolf

Swansea, and the landscape is occupied.

the barbecue grill is active on deck

and the lawn's expanse is dotted with players

and their color-coded mallets.

beyond the tree-line, the river runs southward

in its attitude of persistence toward the Bay.

It's a few hours before dark and the heavy-

handed power station at Brayton Point,

sits on the inlet splitting the larger Taunton river
and the smaller Lee river which flows into it.

from the sightline eastward crossing the Taunton,
Fall River rises upon the hill, a density

in three-deckers, many dressed in new vinyl, exhausted

textile mills, smokestacks cold with inactivity,
and church steeples heralding the remnants of God.

further eastward, the city continues before evaporating between

the great freshwater ponds at the Narrows of the Watuppa,

once the home of the sprawling Wampanoag nation.

the Sun is three hours from setting. the light is enormous.

common sparrows are active at the living tree-line

on the western banks of the river, now intensely grey,

rolling in its southerly heading like a ream of metal

in the midst of a luscious landscape, but nothing

comes to me now which hasn’t come to me before.

9/4/13