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Baggage - an Oildale Poem

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The man with the walking stick

is standing on the sidewalk in front

of the McDonald's

near the trailer court

filled with empty tin shacks

along McCord Avenue.

He waves to the woman

pulling a green suitcase

as if she were boarding a plane to

Morroco, South America or the Great White North.


Domestic turbulence


cellophane cigarette wrappers

fast food.

Buildings with green crosses,

and abandoned shopping carts

The Oildale Depot.

Smoke rises in the air

from his cigarette

and mine as I stand by my car

watching the woman walk down the sidewalk

as if she were leaving for somewhere or

leaving something behind.

Her short black hair

bouncing almost

as if swaying in the wind

and her hand rising

and anticipating the man with the walking stick

as he jaywalks

through the rapid traffic

on the avenue in front of the

auto repair shop

and internet cafe gambling hall's

active sign

almost neon light

rising above the neighborhood

like an airport control tower.

The two embrace and smoke

rises above them

the way tiny clouds

envelope the mountains

in the Andes, or the Golden Gate Bridge

far away

but the two stand still

in the streets of Oildale.


© 2017 Finn

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