Those Blue Remembered Hills
errol miller
“Wheze are those blue remembered hills ...”
A.E. Houseman
Back to the basics, I presume,
Old Style beer and poetry and the memory
of Kerouac always on the road, I, too, traveled
through the “old brown Chicago in a limousiric, I
ran into a brick wall of stubborn silence froin
a gang of relatives: they flapped their wings
and flew away, leaving me stranded in the subway.
While others were making love I was trying
to escape, I saw lovely flowers
that did not disintegrate in humid Southside heat.
And later, we broke bread together like we
were friends. I remember, now, how
I got the blues.
