~MICHAEL DOBBERSTEIN~

GREENVILLE ROAD

---

 

This late on Greenville he hardly knows
Whether or not the bars are closed.
He's been in some of them since noon
And here on the sidewalk, under the moon,
It's hard to remember that he came
Just for a few drinks, the football game
On TV.  He's backed against a wall,
Neon winking out, the calls
Of Friday night sliding around him
As people leaving seem to swim
In moonlit shadows.  Their cars
Are parked in rows beside the bars.
He's not sure where he left his,
Can hardly see where the curb is
But gets there somehow and beyond it
Into the street where he stumbles and sits
Suddenly down.  He's sure he drove here,
Knows his car must be near.
Traffic flows around him, glides past:
Drivers honk.  In minutes he's the last
Living thing on Greenville Road.
He thinks about what he used to know,
Considers what he could have been
And rests, glad for all that's behind him.
 

© by Michael Dobberstein