Friday, January 05, 2007

Years That End In Seven (a poem)

Years that end in seven
Have always
Been good to me

In '67 I was wee
Picking mangos off the tree
In Old Alexandria
Yes it's true, that was me
The house on the corner is still there
The ghosts in the courtyard still scare
I don't live there anymore

'77 was the year of Aja
And Hotel California
I walked down to the candy store
By the yard where they kept the horse
In Buckingham with its brittle bones
Its burnt house hills
Its early touch tone phones

'87 was me and Keesha
In Minneapolis with its new restaurants
Downtown turned upside down
The one-way transforming uptown
And by the lake, the Malt Shop
Made us shakes and soup
To cool us down in summer
To keep us warm in winter
Or both at once in spring

In '97 I was back in town
A poet in Golden Gopher grad school
Studying Greek letter formulas in the morning
Writing abstract verse in the snowy afternoon
The strange familar swoon
The same feeling sinister tune
'97 was nice

2007 is here now
Five days gone, I've run five miles
I've slept enough to sleep
I've kept up the upkeep
Years that end in seven
Have been good
This one will be no exception

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