Green Street Cafe

Portland

The cityscape comes out of the fog

hunched and low.

It’s streets and signposts unsettled as we pass through town.

The Three J’s

The parking lots

The bridge so high it blocks the sun.

The cityscape

people and concrete slung low in the saddle

its storied buildings laden with linoleum halls

and wood and bells

elevators and floor stops.

I fall asleep on the carpet

while mother talks, father patient.

The carpet rough and cool.

The city, the car, the traffic

watching as sky and glass and concrete wave us along.

The clatter as we ride over the manhole covers.

The bridge.

I am light and delirious. My friend, the bridge

bids me welcome as home we go.

We pass by Bekins (sounds like Beeman’s Gum).

I roll over in the back.

The car goes whoosh down the road.

I am soon asleep.

Portland.

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This entry was published on November 9, 2009 at 9:52 pm. It’s filed under Writing and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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