Fidget , a poem by sneath→[More:]
i was sent to the corner
before i was able to count to thirteen
and stood pigeontoed.
floating home through the potholes
i heard the taps on the tables
of men of few words
who sang at church.
and in between the scarecrows and birds
of a small town
we would eavesdrop like incest
for a story of a boy, blue, who tortured animals or
a girl, pink, tuning the piano.
with dirt behind their ears
and coming to their senses on sugar water
kids were
carving two names in a tree, forever,
right next to grandpa's carved effigy.
so excluseless i was
in the corner
realizing that towns go nowhere but
begin at the bread crumb trail