Viewing Life From My Kitchen Window
Stretched between me and my high school
basketball game is sleet-covered dark of ground.
I remember last week's game, the bus ride
singing “Jamaica Farewell” off key, the necking
with Judy in the back, the talking with Curtis
afterwards on the freezing streetlit corner,
the write-up in the paper the next day,
the congratulations from giggly girls.
I stand by my kitchen window, staring at the
sleet-covered dark of grounds, waiting.
gene fehler
