IN CLEVELAND, in 1965 Emmett restores my faith in all that is good and true by pulling a scooter from the dumpster at school and pronouncing it perfect despite a rusty fender and frayed grey duct tape covering the hand grips. This baby will drift, he assures me, and while I have no idea what a drifting scooter does, to do so is clearly a good thing in the eyes of a newly-rich boy. My brother and I furnished backyard scrap-wood forts from items left on the curbs of Piermont Road every Tuesday, in Cleveland, in 1965. Never a ripped chair more luxurious than in our backyard bunker. Never did boys recline more regally than we did on trash day treasures, in Cleveland, in 1965.
Poem Notes: When my sister Amy read this poem, she reminded me that our mother re-finished a shelf Amy rescued from someone’s trash in Cleveland. My sister kept that shelf until she moved into her first apartment after graduating college. Our forts weren’t haunted, but I sure did read a lot of Hardy Boys books in those days. I checked and Franklin W Dixon is still churching them out . . . he must be 143 years old by now!
Subscribe to be notified of new posts by email; it’s free. *
Leave a comment so I know you were here,
and please share this blog with a friend.
* Check spam/social folders if email does not appear in your inbox.
A New Poem on Mondays!
Joseph Neely, all rights reserved