Vagrancy is an Art Form, too
by Michael Tillman
The trees resemble something
you can buy in a hobby shop.
Encased in plastic tubes.
Planted in green Styrofoam.
From up here we stare
at cars passing by on
little asphalt railroads.
We listen
to the muffled sounds
of unseen trains traveling
on their way to
the West Coast.
See down there?
That's where Dad took us
to eat bologna sandwiches and
send model rockets racing
into the sky.
There?
That’s where we found
dirty pennies deep under
the seat in that 91’ blazer,
and smashed them on
old railroad tracks.
And over there?
That's where I am not,
but could be.
You’re so far.
From a desert house
you stare at the sun and
remember
time spent longing for
where you are now.
The dust
and sand
make you nostalgic
for Atlanta flea markets, fickle Georgia weather,
pine trees, and driving on busy interstates.
We are never where we want to be…
always dreaming
of some place far away.
Michael Tillman is a poet from Atlanta, Georgia.
Like the poem? Thoughts? Leave a comment!
by Michael Tillman
The trees resemble something
you can buy in a hobby shop.
Encased in plastic tubes.
Planted in green Styrofoam.
From up here we stare
at cars passing by on
little asphalt railroads.
We listen
to the muffled sounds
of unseen trains traveling
on their way to
the West Coast.
See down there?
That's where Dad took us
to eat bologna sandwiches and
send model rockets racing
into the sky.
There?
That’s where we found
dirty pennies deep under
the seat in that 91’ blazer,
and smashed them on
old railroad tracks.
And over there?
That's where I am not,
but could be.
You’re so far.
From a desert house
you stare at the sun and
remember
time spent longing for
where you are now.
The dust
and sand
make you nostalgic
for Atlanta flea markets, fickle Georgia weather,
pine trees, and driving on busy interstates.
We are never where we want to be…
always dreaming
of some place far away.
Michael Tillman is a poet from Atlanta, Georgia.
Like the poem? Thoughts? Leave a comment!