adventures in dysthymia

Friday, February 21, 2014

Flights, poem and prose

I wrote this piece out as a poem -- the first version here -- and then wondered if it might not work as well or better in the form of a vignette or prose poem (of sorts). So, I laid it out as such in paragraphs but with the same text. I don't know which I prefer.

Not that I'm overly fond of either.


Flights

I'd bicycle, or sometimes walk —
six or seven blocks I think
it was, nothing for twelve
year old legs, especially

my well-traveled pair. I had
seen much of Columbus
from a bike, more than my folks
might have ever suspected.

But the hobby shop down
at the end of the street
(if you turned by the school)
wasn't very far, as I said,

where Broad Street and James
and my own route made a five-way
inconvenience and the Ho-Jo
sat out on the point but I

stayed on this side of the street.
We ate there once, a few
days before we left Ohio.
I probably had the clams.

I always liked the clams.
But the hobby shop was
my destination, each week,
when I had enough money

from my allowance to buy
another model airplane
or maybe check the paperback
racks for the latest

reissue of a Burroughs novel.
A visit to Africa or Barsoom
was only a quarter or thirty
cents, and that was a good

deal compared to a one-forty-eighth
scale Revell. Such flights I took
on both, and on a green bicycle,
that last year in the city.

Stephen Brooke ©2014

Flights

I'd bicycle, or sometimes walk — six or seven blocks I think it was, nothing for twelve year old legs, especially my well-traveled pair. I had seen much of Columbus from a bike, more than my folks might have ever suspected.

But the hobby shop down at the end of the street (if you turned by the school) wasn't very far, as I said, where Broad Street and James
and my own route made a five-way inconvenience and the Ho-Jo sat out on the point but I stayed on this side of the street.

We ate there once, a few days before we left Ohio. I probably had the clams. I always liked the clams.

But the hobby shop was my destination, each week, when I had enough money from my allowance to buy another model airplane or maybe check the paperback racks for the latest reissue of a Burroughs novel. A visit to Africa or Barsoom was only a quarter or thirty cents, and that was a good deal compared to a one-forty-eighth scale Revell.

Such flights I took on both, and on a green bicycle, that last year in the city.

Stephen Brooke ©2014


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