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It's now been 35 years since I left the town where I grew up and moved nearly half a continent away. Yet I can't deny part of it (the good part) is always with me.

The Town

Attackby Ronald Erling Nilson05 Apr 2014

It's always there -
the town where I grew up -
in the mind's eye -
like a speck of dust on the lens -
just off to the side.
Not a day goes by without a visit -
wandering streets like a tourist -
plaid Bermuda shorts -
suitcase filled with empty space -
taking snapshots of the vanished -
peeking around corners -
studying reflections of the natives
in drug store windows -
chatting up old-timers in the graveyard -
picking up souvenirs from the rocks and clay -
searching the dime store for classmates
among old record albums -
repelling the lewd advances
of girdles and bras.
At night I hear the wail
of truck tires on the turnpike -
and commuter train whistles
muffled by wet snow.
I am a child reading
books under the covers -
hoping it will snow
forever.