You can't cross Route 62 at Bedford anymore,
and they repaved Francis, the tucked away, little dead end.
The old train by the Lube was taken away a few years ago;
the petition to keep it, make it a landmark, started too late.
Leana's moved to Niles, pushed from one mall to another;
they're tearing down Shenango, filed the demolition permit last month.
But the Chocolate Kingdom stays the same,
and I've walked the loop at Buhl Park on so many fall days before this.
My phone still lists Mom's Toyota 4Runner as one of my devices,
laptop still connects to her WiFi automatically, though the password escapes my memory.
The dresser in the guest room was mine once upon a time,
much like the room that was my brother's, my sister's, then my own before this.
Each visit becomes an audit, a recounting and rediscovery of home
a collection of precious moments not unlike my mother's curio cabinet
of what am I missing
and what would I be coming back to?
About the Creator
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More stories from Kay Husnick and writers in Poets and other communities.
Getting Serious About Comedy (Part I)
If I were asked to remark on my life and the childhood that paved some road leading me to this point, I would have to say something about all the funny people who surrounded me for the last 26,872 days (and counting). Somewhere along that road, I became a big fan of laughter and the comedy that spawns it – and, I mean not only my own laughter, but the laughter of others, some of which I have actually been responsible for inducing.
By John Oliver Smith5 days ago in Humor
Comments (1)
The line "Each visit becomes an audit, a recounting and rediscovery of home," really captures so much. Love this poem.