#yourhometown

[poetrythreesixfive]

Your Home Town

Your true home town is wherever you went

to grade school, that bracket of experience

spanning childhood to adolescence when the

world begins to take shape into whatever you

imagine it to be, often for the rest of your life.

The question is, would you send your kids to

the same school, live in the same neighborhood

as your parents, walk the same sidewalks as

your younger self? If so, then you are the rare

person who has found their spot in the world.

[hometowngothic]

The Book

The book has been inside your desk before the school was built. It is the first edition of your textbook. You close the book. The book belongs to the classroom. You belong to the classroom. You open the book. It is the next edition of your textbook. The book will always be there. Notes from students after you decorate its pages. A page falls from the book. The book never left your desk.

[hometowngothic]

Lawn Chairs

The half circle of lawn chairs as always been there. You remember it from when you were young. You remember it from when you were old. They always sit in a half circle by the bus stop in that one part of town. You drive by the bus stop, but no one is ever there. You drive by the bus stop and the lawn chairs are not there. No one remembers them when you ask. You drive by the bus stop and the lawn chairs are there. They are new. One is tipped over.

[hometowngothic]

The Midnight Train

There is a classic rock song on the radio. You hum the tune, restless in your bed. Your phone says it's midnight. In the distance you hear the train, going anywhere. You phone beeps. An email. Your order has been received. You hear the train again. You are on the midnight train. You are the midnight train.

[hometowngothic]

The Town Owners

They came to town carrying more colors than you had ever seen before. They did not eat, did not sleep. They looked at you with a stare that told you they had seen more than you could ever dream of.

 “What town are we in?” one of them asks. You do not know which. It could have been all of them. You could have imagined the question. 

 “What town are we in?” You ask them.

 “We are in your town,” they tell you.

 This was never your town, you realize. This was their town, and they would abandon it again when the wind blew the right way.

[sleepybluehaze]

Yall know that one guy in your home town

[hometowngothic]

The Sky is Falling

"The sky is falling," Mr. Grayson's poodle said as you passed him on the street. Mr. Grayson nodded. He wore his human face today. The wind echos his words. You walk forward, your mind unable to rest.  

You enter the coffee shop, desperate for a caffeine fix. You glance at the menu. It says the sky is falling.

"The sky is falling," you say as you order a drink. "The sky is falling," the cashier says taking your payment. "The sky is falling," the barista trills when your drink is ready.

You leave the coffee shop, brushing the stardust out of your hair. The sky is falling

[hometowngothic]

The Tourists

The door opens. The bell rings. They walk in, smiles and sharp teeth.

"What town are we in," their voices like birds.

"You are in my town," you say, "this is your town." you did not speak. The door opens. The bell rings. They leave like feathers into your town. Their voices are the wind.

"What town are we in," the birds squawk on the wind.