-the Poem of Common Experiences-

Traveling by car from the borderline

of the north-end of town
to the borderline of the southend of town
takes a measurable amount of time

impossible to calculate to a proof due to annoying

last-minute pleas for critical eggs,

emergency pumping of five bucks worth of regular,

as well as stops of longer duration, like post-parade

street sweepers or shift changes at the Sagamore textile mill.

I’ve never timed a trip from

the north-end to the southend of town

nor do I remember driving the distance
between these borders on purpose;

the Municipal Airport to the new “Dairy Queen”.

Mostly I’ll pull over somewhere in the middle

for a Coney Island hotdog lunch, or a supper
of take-out chow mein, or

to pay my respects to the recently bereaved.

Inside, from the table where poems are written,

a walk to the bathroom takes longer to navigate

than a walk to the coffeepot;
the measurement in time and distance this morning.