third street

     being a postcard from home
 
 
who would live in such a place
but it was pretty normal then.
lots and lots of years ago.

Third Street.   the town was only
a little larger than third.

window in the front, that’s me.
when the town slept I’d put my
cheek onto the window screen.

feel.   be both outside and in.
the room was only two long strides
across, so not a leap to imagine
outside being inside too,

or the mother possum gnawing
beneath my sleeping floor.

termites said the floors tasted good.

the street out front was harvest
broad and strong.   Greyhound buses
used it to circle round.

the smell of diesel was an
aroma of adventure to me.

front door with a skeleton key.
back door, hook and eye, and how
I burgled in when my key was gone.

no bathroom when the house was built.
later they added one. no insulation
so outdoor weather took residence.

clothes off, to shower, then dry
and gone in five minutes flat.

in time ivy came to adore the
front porch.

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