Episode 3: Swinging On Front Porches

O the bells of Quincy 1825
The artisans, the peddlers and their carts
That keep the red brick alive.

It's Friday the 21st and I get George Moore
So every day I head to the library to check in and say

Isabella, I think you're architecturally astounding -
I could watch you go up, extend, lie still forever.
We'd rest on the common and stain my white shoes red.

Today you take advantage -

Instil in me mass consumption.
You tell me that this is the modern world!
Your pants swing from the garage door
Decorated in red ribbon and green clover.

10.18 Breakfast at Bartley's
Take off your shoes. Sit on our rugs!
Tell us in advance what is yet to come.

There will be sound checks at 5.02
But we're still in the yard eating leftover fruit.
I picture her chunky bracelets
And trace her movements in and out
Of all houses wherein men have lived.

8.30 The lizard lounge. I'm glad we came
It's Sunday and it's the 1990s
The district is busy. We roll up our jeans.

Tonight they take over the cemetery
Recreate the battle of O' Normal
Bellmen shiver at the sight of bright orbs of light,
Guests quiver at the sound of rocking chairs,
Yet there are no rocking chairs in this hotel

On Copp's Hill -
Would you do things differently?
Course not, but think most probably.

3.15 And we swing in time
Books stuffed into side-streets
Books stacked into neat peaks

Scratch in this moment –
Say something cliché: the willow strokes the surface and parts the lake
And Duck, Duck, Goose - Duck glides right on through
Or just scar the skin with needles and pins.

Books spill into your suitcase.

I change direction out of a taxi
And end up asleep in Seat 19 C.

No comments: