Stray

I’d like to live upstairs from a candy store.
Over the years, I’ve read a few great poems
about life amid candy:
………………………….Just this morning,
on my reluctant drive to work, I stopped
at the rest area and read all about how
Pinsky wakes up with his new love, looks down
at the sweetshop’s wrinkled awning, watches
an early fog lifting to reveal pigeons pecking
at rainbowed gutters; and the venerable old
Ferlinghetti, ages ago, wrote how he fell in
love with unreality amid licorice and glowing
jellybeans on a gloomy September afternoon
in the pennycandy store beyond the El.
………………………………………………Decades
later, sometime in my early twenties, a baby
poet, I vowed that I’d pitch a tent outside
Munson’s Kandy Kitchen, and live on chocolate
and peanut butter eggs.
…………………………….I’m not so old, nor
blind, now, looking back, to see I should have
kept that vow.

4 thoughts on “Stray

  1. We had a penny candy store in the beach town I grew up in but the candy lipstick and dixie sticks never found their way into my poems like the characters from fairy tales and catechism (same thing?) class did.

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