-one in every port-

to thee I sing

the dear departed

to all the living departed

to some among
the old relations

to one
gas station proprietor

three
variety store proprietors

the scowling
school teachers
the young
cousin draped in the silver
holiday shift
split at the hem
high enough above
the knee
to keep the dark
night's interior lit up 
no boss

no politician

no principal
no priest

every pet
Brinkley
more than Huntley
one salesman on the road
one hat-
band stitcher,—

to those who wore the five-

fingered glove

to every girl

through every dance

most every woman

most every friend, —

to all
the incorrigible
boys leaning
the schoolroom chairs
against

the coatroom walls

and to all the young
bike riders
who can still be heard
from beyond the fences

to thee I sing.