What Homes Are For

This month’s theme is “Nowhere to Go.”

I tried to write a poem about Dorothy and the Wizard and how she could never actually go home. Sure, she’d go to Kansas and see her aunt and uncle again, but it wouldn’t be the same. She’d be different. Her home would be much smaller somehow.

I stopped half-way through that poem. It was a shitty poem. I made a to-do list to help me finish the poem and then make it better. Here’s the to-do list: 1) Research cults. 2) Research what homes are for.

The to-do list was a much better poem than the poem about Dorothy was ever going to be.

Nonetheless, I did find a poem I wrote as a wee Freshman that fits the theme.

Here it is:

The Taxicab

A cab yawns, pauses in orbit.
After I have ended parties I did not start,
hid behind cameras,
and shook so many hands,
I enter its jaws.

The carpet smells of yellow bottles,
and the paneling is fingerprinted,
the taillights broken.
Closed windows and air-conditioned,
a gate between me and the driver.

I am no nun, cloistered and holy.
Jazz and riots, litter and lawyers
Stick in my eye.
I am not even a pilgrim,
but a used bandage.

As the cab drifts like a dreamless somnambulist
towards the dawn, a final thought flickers:
For nights like these,
I ought to have constructed a place
for which I could be homesick.




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