Deep in the Rust Belt sits my childhood home,
A small part of me lingers there,
Waiting for the signal to throw open the doors,
To let something dark and fearful out.
And maybe this time, to let someone in.
A massive celestial clock dominates the basement,
Measuring time in its most pivotal, elemental aspect.
Keeping track of movement towards transformation.
And with the full moon in Scorpio, for rebirth,
It’s the reason for gathering this Halloween season.
I watch the clock from inside of a dream.
Hear music through ears at the center of my heart.
As the whole famdamnily arrives with a raucous shout.
They are ready for celebration,
To fill this old house with rhythm and song.
Everyone has come in through the gate, except for
My brother, who waits outside,
Standing next to an aging pickup truck,
The bed swollen with a load of firewood.
An ignition key safe within the palm of my hand.
I am a teenager again, smoking a cigarette,
Unfinished business lingers in the background,
Watching and waiting,
For the climax that never comes,
For the other shoe to drop onto the ground.
Instead, he calls out with a smile in his voice.
I stamp out the cigarette on one of the logs.
The prince motions for me to come on over.
(I gave up smoking decades ago.)
And asks if he can help carry the logs inside.
Maybe the two of us can start a fire in the old hearth.
So the house can be warm again.
Maybe drink a beer or two by the fire.
Share a story or two, and declare a truce,
For once and for all of the old times.
by Rob the Bicycle Poet
First Performed on open mic night at Denver’s Bookbar, November 1, 2019. I sure do miss that place in these Covid-19 times.