The World Is but a Canvas to the Imagination

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The Western Front

6:40

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I shut the creaky car door
I scuffed my shoes against pebble and cement
Strode toward the night-time bench
Stared up
The moon looked cracked and broken 
When sitting under mangled crooked oak tree arms
Strands, strings, from the bottom of weathered jeans 
Trailed behind like chains
The wind took the cracked torn leaves 
And led them safely across the street

Wondering what conversations 
Pass through the telephone wires
Hung like cobwebs between all these bare trees
Covering ears with dusty hands when trains rolled through
Cars of coal, they drudge and groan, 
Moan their tales of other towns they've seen
That sleep just like ours

A tin can rolls and hits the curb
The wind laughed hard
It was he that pushed him
A plane light flashes on and off 
As someone inside flips a page on their book
A black cat runs across the street 
And slips into the dark alley 
That runs behind the video store 
And where they write the town paper
The kittens pounce and rip the mouse 
Their mother caught by the church

Tire scrapes on yellow curbs
As kids in cars pulled up and hung from windows they put down 
When racing into town
The driver had ignored the darkened fields 
And raced with headlight guides 
As the others reached up towards the sky
They had to close their eyes

Outstretched arms and spread wide fingers 
Reaching for the endless sky and space
A doe passed through 
Yellow pools of growing light 
And jumped a barbed wire fence
An old man checked his pocket watch
Growled low, spit and coughed

Riding a pogo stick from the train tracks to city hall
Waving sweetly at a car when you don't mean it at all
Filling soda cans with gray-laced cigarettes
Coughing loud, halfway faking the sound
Hoping your script will convince a friend to quit

A tin can rolls and hits the curb
The wind laughed hard
It was he that pushed him
A plane light flashes on and off 
As someone inside flips a page on their book
A black cat runs across the street 
And slips into the dark alley 
That runs behind the video store 
And where they write the town paper
The kittens pounce and rip the mouse 
Their mother caught by the church

A point and click picture
Highlighted eight figures
Legs and arms crossed 
Or littering the sidewalk
Leaning back on the 6th Street bench 
Or scribbling notes on a gas station receipt
Toes curling up underneath feet 
As the moon must have been frozen

For the last night in a row 
We packed up boxes 
And rented apartments 
To head out in this lonely world alone

A book bag never filled with books
Ennis, MCrea and a Naked Lunch
A worn box filled with black snake wires 
That connect to various electrical devices
Andy and Red rolled up on paper
Ticket stubs and pictures of winter 
An answering machine used a year ago 
Still has old messages from people that are gone
Give me a call when you get off work
You're leaving in two weeks
We should really hang out
The lamp that I use to light up my face 
When sitting at the keyboard and typing away
A pocket watch with cold dead hands 
That I'd like to fix to click again
Forks, knives and paper plates 
Black slacks, white shirt and tie just in case 
I get a job or meet a girl

The smile that forms on your face from the car 
As you pull up to the grocery story 
And see how much your brother has grown 
That year you've been away from town
The driveway stained from oil and paint 
The extension cord asleep on the floor
Half in the sun - half in the shade
The heat baked him a vibrant orange
White chips of paint strewn across your face
They stick from sweat and hold their place
Drip to your shirt and stain your legs
I turned my back to the moon 
And he followed me right out of town 

Awkward smiles all around but I thought I saw
Buried behind that stoic face
A smile from months ago
Under layers and layers of days and weeks 
Of living our own lives on sunny beaches 
And wet mountain country

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