I lived in town for a moment,
a neighborhood around the Shrine—
                    Black on one side,
                    college kids, the other
in a subdivided,
old two-story
peeling paint
we called Big Pink.

Weekend mecca for loud
electric sounds, Janis
and the Revolution wailing—
the street would teem
with strobe-lit kids,
weed wafting sidewalk trees,
trying to ignore the War,
Kent State and the M-16
awaiting graduation.

Landmarks close,
I had no plans to map—
yet found myself asleep
retracing trails
to High Sierra meadows,
                    bell mare edging
                    a snowmelt lake,
                    pine smoke and
a leaky bucket sky at night.


4 responses to “WEST 32nd STREET

  1. That last verse makes me happy, John, as does that beautiful photo.


    Liked by 1 person

  2. Brings back a time….many thoughts of whether to go or not wafted along the jet stream.

    Liked by 1 person

    • In retrospect, it seems but a chaotic blip in time. I was blessed to have a summer job away from it all, a hands-on retreat in the midst of political unrest. I was ready to quit school and pack mules for the rest of my life, but didn’t want to lose my 2-S deferment. I wrote a lot of poetry.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.