Morning poem #2, April 28, 2016

It was a place of another generation
Having been imagined and built by men and women
Who lived through WWII
And whose parents had won The Great War.

Thus, the sense of sacrifice and prices paid
Could not be escaped
But a longing for life outside of the front lines
Life outside the hospital
That was the new thing

So they listened to jazz. That mood altering music
And then built that patio that overlooked the blue river
And strung colored lights above

I swam in that river, just a kid
But I was permitted to go there in the day
Suntanned and soaked
To buy sandwiches and colas
In little glass bottles

I would walk up the bank
And across the patio
Dripping, towel-wrapped
My feet slapping and wet-darkening the flagstones

I saw there the picture of the
1939 graduating class
And the paintings of the western heros

One day in August the sax player sat on the patio
Practicing his chops for the evening gig there
All thopse sweet notes rising up into the air
Winding around the branches of the sycomore and birch
Trees that craved the river

That’s when I started to understand

Copyright 2016

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