Inkwell 2018-2019

Roadside Towns By Ally Dehoff People live here, Places that strangers are always passing through, But too much is opaque through the smudged windows of a gas station, And who would I be to pry? People live here, Sandwiched between gray highways and green mountains, but blue days Are rare Under the smog that’s too thick to be cut With the knives that have brought the crime rate to what it is. People live here, In the land of squawking front porch swings and deepening sidewalk cracks. If there’s a public library it must be well hidden from the likes of me. The lifer’s books aren’t mine to read, As much as their eyes aren’t mine to meet. Still, even if I can’t know them There are

Laughs to gift here, Tears to run here, Love to be had here, So I can’t help but think That maybe people live here. Places where family owned diners Are filled with strangers, Where quiet 90’s hits

Play under an omnipresent din, But even that can’t drone out The whish, whish of passing cars. The background noise for the background towns.

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