Hearken to extra tales on hark
I’m extra at house in The Previous, need although I’ll
To dwell on this lonesome place The Current Second.
I share a stack of magazines with somebody
Who reads the brand new ones from the highest. The underside,
Salted with gilded ephemera, outspent adverts
And failing or light fads, is simply my meat.
Praying that I don’t blind myself to horrors
I research the Instances on-line to behold the face
Of fascism and its disregarding hand.
I carry on enthusiastic about it as I retreat
To scan a house display of my highschool class,
Our posted shades of mortal veils and marrows.
The dialog floats down tunnels of fortune
To the ninth grade, Joe Cittadino expelled
For setting a hearth within the Chattle Constructing attic.
Joe died some time in the past, did folks realize it?
As an alternative of hiding as all the time earlier than in silent
Anonymity, I enable myself the homely
Civic pleasure of getting one thing to say,
Posting: Joe advised me again then it wasn’t him,
He took the blame to impress a lady, her brother
Was Frankie Quinn who actually set the hearth.
And thanks, Junior Genovese, for writing:
You’re proper Robert, it was Frankie Quinn.
This poem seems within the June 2025 print version.
