Where I’m From

I started on a hill, swinging, 

not climbing, 

on a Whipple tree. 

The storm, the melancholy, came 

to water our land. 

Soon-to-be ketchup 

brought me by sea 

and eventually sweating in 

lines and blue ovals brought me 

by paved roads. 

As soon as we could fly I flew, 

but not before toast and coffee. 

With Mr. Bean shaving his tongue and

Lucy stuffing her face 

with chocolates, 

that generational laugh 

I hope will be the last sound I hear 

as I fade back into 

that farmland north of London. 

And since I have time 

as of now, 

that laugh… 

It wasn’t because the day 

was done well 

or her loved ones treated her 

with love and kindness. 

It’s because it wasn’t so, 

that with Vernor floats I could watch

courage unfold.