the Tropic of Bedford

It must seem from afar to be a pleasant experience

growing-up in the Tropic of Bedford, and

to a large extent it is.

there’s little to no crime when standing amongst

such succulent vegetation, because who would dare?

rainfall is soothing and generally looked forward to

in the Tropic of Bedford, so much so that one can wear

revealing underpants and pose for the record without embarrassment,

and a sibling standing behind you grinning for no apparent reason

makes more sense in the Tropic of Bedford than it would,

say, on any crosstown bus in your own hidebound town.

otherwise, who would care to know what's going on?

––and there’s this:  upstairs friends are more likely

to appear from out of nowhere in the Tropic of Bedford,

such as in the case of crazy Ernie Carocelli. –– It’s magical out there.

and look. your hands may appear to be holding something

delicately resting in their palms, but it only appears that way.

this phenomenon would be seriously problematic in mid-

temperate environments, but in the Tropic of Bedford,

all is perceived to be the way it’s supposed to be.

here are the grapes for port wine from the tangle of their vines,

meadows abundant in earthy tomatoes and sweet-skinned fruits,

the dense rows of poplars and elms in the distance, and behind them

the junkyard running on its endless loop.

Quequechan