Linda Conroy
Passing Through
A balloon man, calling, bending, snapping,
ties a knot around this straggling town.
Geraniums hot as matches shoot from purple shade.
Sharp grasses slice sun's rays. At the crossroads
loud metal signs for gas, for cannabis, cement towers
anchor business born of pleasure, a tattoo while you wait.
Day's rush is softened by nasturtiums' colored trail
across white-washed-tire garden beds.
Dirt driveways clutter with kid's toys, tools,
a rusty wagon, corn broom, an old leaf rake.
I fade behind the bric-a-brac as fences fall
from view. I left this town, some fifty years ago,
a haunting behind every tree. Where are you now
the wild ones, the presences that draw me back?
Bio
Linda Conroy is a retired social worker who likes to write about the complexity of behaviors that make us human, our connection to nature and to the changing times. Her poems have appeared in various journals. She is the author of a poetry collection, Ordinary Signs.