I don't even hear the geese honking as they dive-bomb the pond on March 5 A.M.'S, and I don't hear our son's alarm, the clump of his boots down the creaking stairs, nor the telephone ringing in the living room where you used to stay up talking because you could not sleep, and I feigned tiredness to go to bed, where I would turn your Christmas gift, Sleep-Eaze, up to ten on Waterfall with overlay of Frogs and Doves, or Forest with Soaring Owls, but usually on eight for Surf I with Train, that chug-chug so oddly comforting as I was on my way down tracks that dully gleamed like those when I was twelve or thirteen, no fear then of falling off to cinder and glass, or wondering if anyone would be home when I returned, traveling mile after mile for no reason at all except to get somewhere and then turn back. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOUNTAIN FARM by MALCOLM COWLEY MOUNTAIN VALLEY by MALCOLM COWLEY A TIME TO DANCE by CECIL DAY LEWIS SPECIAL EFFECTS by JAMES GALVIN TO OUR MOCKING-BIRD; DIED OF A CAT, MAY, 1878 by SIDNEY LANIER THE ROAD TO AVIGNON by AMY LOWELL |