Metuchen

I was alone all summer.

 

I.

I woke up alone and fed the cats

and made coffee

chilled with ice and sweetened with

honey

to drink with the birds and cicadas

in the haze before the sun dominated

the day

 

And I'd fix lunch and dinner

before the oven's heat became unbearable

hot meals

then frozen for later

for my mother

who works hard

 

And then

I'd lie in the grass

under the oppressive heat

and read about India

and write about loss

and before too long

it was time for the long hot walk

to the train station

past rows of stifling flower gardens

and little boys running naked through sprinklers on steaming pavement

 

And the train

cool, and blank-smelling.

 

II.

And again into the heat

past shattered-glass shop windows

and smiling brown men in taxis, calling

"smile, baby!"

to the school

and in the school,

a holy man who lived in the desert and flew through the jeweled sky on a unicorn

was reduced by a dry old man

to a fairy tale

 

III.

At dusk there was no difference

the heat was the same in the shade

of the foul-smelling trees

as out of it

I could walk through the streets

with a pot cigarette

and lose my thoughts

in the drone of helicopters

and wail of ambulances

 

when I returned

the town was sticky and muddled

and the tough-talking boys and painted-face girls

were too hot

to even have any ice cream

 

IV.

I would call him

and we would drive slowly

and listen to the indistinct rumblings

of the Princeton radio station

and either I'd f**k him or I wouldn't

he'd drop me off

and I'd climb on top of the dugout

the tin roof

felt cool against my naked back

and I watched the airplanes and their colored warnings

for lack of stars

 

V.

I was alone all summer