tonywalt
10-24-2020, 12:32 PM
As I turn left off Oxford Street
cloaked in a low sky and shuffling
along with the other furrowed brows
I search for the accents of my youth
"Tomato" or "Tomahto" or "Tomata."
"Aunt" or "Ant" or "Auntie"
Punching my cold fists into a
Harrods jacket I enter the tube,
shortly reaching a grey gray
station and see the pub with an
old fashioned clock against the
familiar liquored mirror,
damn, it's way past our meeting time,
and
am I at the right place?
I really could go for
comfort food now, we need this
Connection
"Buffalo Wings? " Or is it "Fish and Chips? "
Maybe "Saltfish? "
Which of these do I want?
Eh, it's too late for such a search.
A sudden hiss of wind
angrily flaps my jacket, and
a raindrop
taps my shoulder—
as a stranger does when they have
wandered too far and need
direction.
The rain falls.
The sun falls.
The fog falls.
The days fall from the harboring arms of mothers.
I walk alongside the parceled flats,
pausing at a low bridge and look out at
the bruised dusk of the Old World
as the wind swings my bag like a beacon
against the cold.
Oh, come now - and dance with me
Caribbean.
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50523811353_2403f636fa_k.jpg (https://flic.kr/p/2jYBJTK)pier in cayman islands (https://flic.kr/p/2jYBJTK) by Tony Walton (https://www.flickr.com/photos/15939419@N03/), on Flickr
cloaked in a low sky and shuffling
along with the other furrowed brows
I search for the accents of my youth
"Tomato" or "Tomahto" or "Tomata."
"Aunt" or "Ant" or "Auntie"
Punching my cold fists into a
Harrods jacket I enter the tube,
shortly reaching a grey gray
station and see the pub with an
old fashioned clock against the
familiar liquored mirror,
damn, it's way past our meeting time,
and
am I at the right place?
I really could go for
comfort food now, we need this
Connection
"Buffalo Wings? " Or is it "Fish and Chips? "
Maybe "Saltfish? "
Which of these do I want?
Eh, it's too late for such a search.
A sudden hiss of wind
angrily flaps my jacket, and
a raindrop
taps my shoulder—
as a stranger does when they have
wandered too far and need
direction.
The rain falls.
The sun falls.
The fog falls.
The days fall from the harboring arms of mothers.
I walk alongside the parceled flats,
pausing at a low bridge and look out at
the bruised dusk of the Old World
as the wind swings my bag like a beacon
against the cold.
Oh, come now - and dance with me
Caribbean.
https://live.staticflickr.com/65535/50523811353_2403f636fa_k.jpg (https://flic.kr/p/2jYBJTK)pier in cayman islands (https://flic.kr/p/2jYBJTK) by Tony Walton (https://www.flickr.com/photos/15939419@N03/), on Flickr